========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 1/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:19:59 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 1/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:24:39 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Well, it's been a while since I finished up something on my own, so I
should warn you this isn't a Bond story. It's a first-time story with
a new Picard and Q, though you might think of this as another
companion piece to "The Louder the Song." I've been warned by a
reader that I need to tell people this isn't like TLTS, however. I'm
doing something a little different. That's no surprise to people who
know me, I suppose, since my stories always reflect my life, and
lately, my life has...er...changed.
Anyway, I need to thank the incredible patience and kindness and
general wonderfulness of Ruth Gifford, the beta-reader from Heaven,
and my Editrix, who had to read through so many copies of this story
that she asked me to convey her apologies for the typos she can no
longer "see" in the story. Please just ignore them. I should also
say that my Editrix helped me out tremendously with the local color
and details. Thanks also to the people on my mailing list who gave me
their helpful comments.
Title: An Hour of Eternity
Author: Varoneeka
Series: TNG
Part: 1/16
Rating: NC-17
Codes: P/Q
Summary: Picard and Q are placed in an unusual situation that forces
them to confront themselves and their feelings.
*An Hour of Eternity*
by
Varoneeka
"Self-destruct in ten seconds," the computer informed them.
"Nine...eight...seven..."
"Transportation complete," LaForge's voice assured Captain Picard,
though that voice was shaking slightly. "Beaming you up now..."
Jean-Luc centered himself, seeing the spots and shimmers which meant
the transporter had him.
"...six...five...four..."
"Captain!" Picard heard through the distortion of his atoms being
disassembled. "We're losing the lock...hang on! We're..."
"...three...two..."
"...Captain!"
"...one..."
There was a sudden, terrible noise.
There was a sudden, terrible silence.
~~~//~~~
"You want fries with that?"
"No, damnit! I don't want fries and I don't want your Coke. Just
give me the burgers!"
"That's $5.67. Please pull up."
There was some sort of rumbling to accompany the distorted and angry
voices. He smelled something burning and animal dung, and he was
covered in sweat. His face was pressed into dirt. He hurt all over,
especially when he tried to move.
The rumbling increased, then moved away, to be replaced by a
differently pitched rumbling.
"Welcome to Burger King," the distorted voice announced. "May I have
your order?"
"I want two Junior Whoppers with Cheese, and three Junior Whoppers
with Cheese, no onions," a woman's voice called.
"The Junior Whopper doesn't come with onions."
"You mean I can't get onions on those whoppers?"
"No, ma'am. You can, you just have to ask for them."
"So...what are you...Okay, give me three Junior Whoppers with Cheese,
and then three more *with* onions, okay?"
"You want fries with that?"
"This is hell. I've followed you into hell."
Picard finally woke up completely with this new, familiar voice, and
raised his aching head from the damp earth.
"Yeah, give me four large fries," the woman's voice said. "One Diet
Coke, two Sprites, and three Cokes."
"Large sizes on those drinks?"
"You all right, Jean-Luc?"
The captain finally worked his eyes open, and could see that he was
lying under some sort of greenery, half-buried in dark dirt. A white
cup and some crumpled paper sheets that stank of grease lay to his
right, and he finally identified those rumbling noises as engines.
It wasn't until the dark shape right in front of him moved that Picard
could focus on it. He realized it was creeping towards him.
"Talk to me here so I know there's no brain damage...or are you just
overcome with joy?"
"Q?" he managed to gasp. "Where are we?"
"Home of the Whopper, Jean-Luc."
"That will be $10.95," the garbled voice shouted. "Please pull up."
The engine roared, and another took its place.
Dizziness pushed through the captain's body, and with a smothered
groan his head fell into his soil-covered hands. A memory came to
him, as nauseating as the present: he had been between something,
suspended, falling from something, and there had been so much pain.
He'd thought he was dying, caught in the explosion of the Klingon bird
of prey, last to evacuate the site of the clandestine meeting after
the warp core had begun to breach, taking the place of the dead
Klingon captain. And in that no-place he had shouted instinctively
for help, pulling desperately against the undertow which led...here.
"Welcome to Burger King. Can I have your order?"
"Two Big Macs, large fries, and two small Cokes."
"We have Whoppers, not Big Macs."
"Whatever. And no pickles on one of them."
There was a hand on his shoulder, and it occurred to him that the
stink of exhaust fumes, feces, and garbage was aiding his dizziness.
He wanted to sit up and breathe something clean. He realized he was
fiercely thirsty.
"Q," he croaked out, "wherever this is you've taken us, get us out of
here."
"You did the taking, this time, Picard. And if I could get us out of
here, *believe me,* we'd be gone."
There was pain in Q's voice. Genuine pain. It made Picard say
something he thought he would never say:
"Are you all right, Q?"
"It all depends on your definition, Picard. I don't know yet what
universe you've dragged us into. I suspect it's not a good one,
though."
"That will be $6.78. Please pull up."
It took everything Picard had in him to sit up, flinching as the wet
leaves slicked over his head, leaving trails. He heard Q muttering
and saw the entity sitting up as well. Both of them were filthy.
They were sitting in some sort of small island of greenery beside a
white slab of concrete. Automobiles -- Picard hazarded they were of
the type produced on Earth around the turn of the millennium -- were
lined up along the concrete, and then on the other side of them was a
red building bearing a sign: "Burger Home of the Whopper King."
"We're in the past, on Earth," he grunted.
"We're not in the past, the universe is," Q grunted back.
"Either way, we need to get out of this shrubbery."
"If you're feeling ready to stand up yet, be my guest."
A very large man in tan shorts walked past them, a large and panting
dog going before him on a leash. Neither looked at the two male
figures in the brush.
"Good," Q snorted when the man and his pet were out of earshot.
"We're in a big city."
"Any idea which one?"
Q looked around, but could see as little as Picard could. Then his
eyes narrowed, staring at a car as it passed.
"'Louisiana,'" he read on the plate. "And so is that one." Q looked
suddenly just a little happier. "Could be New Orleans."
"Would that help us?"
Q shrugged. "Well, it's a lot more fun than the rest of Louisiana at
this time. It might even be Mardi Gras season."
"Q," Jean-Luc snapped, "this is no time for your usual foolishness."
"This from a man sitting in a pile of dog pooh?"
"Fish sandwich, and I want onions on it," a woman screamed from her
car, looking into a large plastic display. "And a Pepsi."
"Coke okay?" the display asked.
Picard got his feet under him and stood up. Dirt and other debris
fell from him in a shower, and the woman in her car gave him a dirty
look before she was told the price of her order and asked to move
forward. With severe distaste he began to brush at his uniform. He
had not, he realized with some relief, actually been sitting in
excrement, but he desperately needed a shower.
Groaning loudly, Q stood up as well, and he and his uniform proved to
be in an equally bad state. Only as Picard was registering this did
he realize that procuring a shower wouldn't be easy. In this place --
New Orleans or elsewhere -- he and Q would need money to get things.
"I don't suppose you have any currency on you," Picard remarked,
trying to indicate with his hand that Q had missed brushing off a
little red-stained, white, shiny envelope from where it had stuck to
his right sleeve.
"If I'd known where we going I would have packed a money-belt, or
better yet, a gold card, but as you can see I was quite unprepared for
how far off the mark you were going to get."
Picard finally just reached out and removed the foil packet, letting
it drop to the ground. Q watched him, and then together they stepped
out of the dirt onto the concrete.
"Q..." the man began, but his companion was looking at the red
building.
"I bet they have a restroom we can use," Q said, walking towards the
glass doors. "Try to look like a customer."
One of Picard's favorite instructors at the Academy had been Admiral
Maitland Watters. From her, he had gleaned his first true insights
into what it meant to command others. He'd learned from her lectures
and class discussions of the importance of listening, of accepting
others' suggestions and points of view, of valuing the people who
served with him, and remembering at all times that they were
individuals with their own minds who *chose* to follow orders.
A strong commander, Watters had said often, had to know those moments
when one should not command. "A good leader *has* to know when to
follow," she would insist, meeting her students' eyes firmly. As much
as he'd valued the information at the time, his years of experience in
the captain's chair had shown him a depth of truth to that simple
guideline to make him cherish it all the more.
And so Picard followed Q now, weaving through the line of cars,
walking quietly through the glass doors, turning left down a short
hallway to a door marked with a little stick-figure which Q pushed
open to reveal bright yellow tile, four yellow-painted stalls, two
urinals, and two sinks recessed into a white counter.
Q was looking only at the mirror, however, and scowling at the dirt on
his face, his unkempt hair, and his stained clothing. With a sigh, he
pushed up his sleeves and turned on the water before jabbing several
times at what Picard realized was supposed to be a soap dispenser.
Grunting in irritation, Q moved to the second dispenser, which
actually produced soap, and then washed his hands and forearms, then
his face.
Somewhere in all this Picard moved to the other sink and washed up as
best he could as well, using the brown paper towels on his uniform's
stains and his shoes, removing all the dirt he could from his skin.
He also took the opportunity to drink several handfuls of water, and
noticed Q did the same. It was difficult not to obsess over the
thought of Q's needing water.
A young man came in at one point, used the urinal, and left without
looking at them or washing his hands.
"Anything on my back?" Q asked, turning so that Picard could see.
"No."
"Well, you've got something," Q muttered, going after a spot on
Picard's left shoulder with a damp towel. The captain stood there
quietly until Q got a second towel and scrubbed harder, frowning, and
he couldn't stand it anymore.
"Since when are you so domestic, Q?"
Q shrugged, took a few last swipes at the whatever-it-was, and then
tossed the towel in the bin. "After my experience in mortal
ineptitude, I studied up on basic Human functions and needs." Dark
brown eyes met hazel in the mirror. "It didn't take long."
Jean-Luc didn't quite keep the smile off his lips. "Of course it
didn't." He turned, crossing his arms and leaning one hip against the
counter. "So, the transporter beam broke up due to the same spatial
distortion that caused the core to breach. I was pulled into the
disturbance, which removed me from my own universe. Correct so far?"
"Quite." Q's eyes glittered slightly with a challenge. Picard felt
his shoulders settling back, his chin coming up just slightly.
"When I felt myself being pulled away from the beam, I tried to call
for assistance. It was a general distress call, but I take it...you
heard me?
Q nodded, but Picard's own eyes returned his earlier challenge, and
the entity smiled somewhat ruefully.
"For a bunch of mortals who haven't even mastered transwarp drive, you
and your little crew sure know how to find trouble. That was no mere
spatial anomaly you stumbled into. It's literally a conduit, a sort
of intra-universe wormhole doubtlessly created by the collapse of an
unstable proto-universe that was breaking temporal synch with your
universe --"
"Doubtlessly."
"And when you entered into it, you were without space or time, falling
through the wormhole. As loudly as you called for help, I barely
heard you, and when I reached you, we were both subject to the random
direction of the forces at work."
Picard shook his head. "You're going to have to do better than that.
You're almost omnipotent. How could a wormhole render you helpless?"
"I wasn't helpless! But I was and am without my powers, as I suppose
you've managed to work out." Q raised a hand. "As for how, well, the
Q draw their power from the universe, Jean-Luc, at least, they do in
our universe. There are no absolute constants, you know...at least
--"
"Not in our universe."
Q made an expression of half-exasperation, half-acknowledgement.
"When I left ours behind, my powers stayed there. I'm 100% Human
right now, and I'll have to stay this way until we make it back."
"You say that with surprising calm, considering your state the last
time this happened."
Q shrugged. "My enemies are back in our own universe as well. Here I
can enjoy the anonymity of Human insignificance."
Picard nodded absently. "Then...you believe we can make it back?"
Q opened his mouth, closed it, firmed it, and took a breath. "I'm
sure we can, though, it won't be a matter of snapping my fingers."
Picard heard the almost-apology behind Q's words and felt a fleeting
annoyance that the entity evidently believed him to be that shallow.
"You're risking a lot to help me out of this, Q," he said evenly.
"Thank you."
Q gave him the same look of surprise he'd once offered while wearing
his judge's robes, accepting a different expression of Picard's
gratitude.
"Well, I couldn't just let you go off on your own and break something
Crusher couldn't fix."
Q's eyes were plainly hiding something. But Picard let it go for now,
focusing on more immediate concerns.
"We need to find out where and when we are. We also need money."
"Shelter, food, something snazzy to wear..."
Picard didn't smile. "We have the gold in our communicators --
assuming yours is real. But I don't want to part with them for
obvious reasons."
"Oh, I think we can avoid the pawn shops for now. If this *is* New
Orleans, they'll be ways for us to make some cash pretty quickly."
Q's eyes sparkled and looked him over. "Especially you."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Picard demanded just as a father and
his two sons entered the restroom.
"Excuse me," the father said, and Picard nodded at him politely,
murmuring, as he and Q moved on outside again. There, they both
looked around, taking in the small grouping of stores across the
street, the largest of which evidently sold green interior
decorations, until Q spotted a large blue metal box and moved towards
it. Together, they reached the front of the box, and saw a newspaper
inside, bearing the header "The Times-Picayune."
"New Orleans," Q said with satisfaction.
"'Picayune?'" Picard murmured. "That means 'a little thing.' Strange
name for a newspaper."
"Ah, Jean-Luc, this city has a sense of humor about itself. It's also
one of the country's murder capitals, rife with corruption, and I
think it's about this time in history that it sported the most fat
people per capita."
Picard looked at him in some surprise. "You're a regular guidebook,
Q."
The entity shrugged coyly. "I've been here before, though not in this
universe, obviously, and it was about twenty years ago, relatively
speaking. I kept an eye on it...until the war, when it became very
dull, as you know."
The captain looked again at the date. October 3, 1999.
"How different could the history of this universe be from our own?" he
wondered aloud.
"Very different," Q said, looking around again. "But it looks pretty
much on target so far. Hm. If that's the levy," he pointed to their
left, "and this is Carrolton Avenue, then we want to go right."
"What's to the right?" he asked even as he fell into step beside Q,
continuing to look around them with open interest. He reminded
himself that he wouldn't have to worry about preserving the timeline
-- though he would still try to avoid disrupting this universe's
history as a matter of course. *Anything at all might be different.
Not even Q knows what's here.* He smiled to himself. The thought was
surprisingly intriguing.
"You're gawking like a tourist, Jean-Luc," Q noted.
"You worried we'll get our pockets picked?"
Q looked thoughtful. "Well, they might come after our organs."
"What?"
"There were many rumors circulating at the time about organ
harvesters...but I'll tell you what, I'll keep an eye on your
mechanical pump if you'll watch over my favorite organ."
"I'm not going to ask what that is."
"Oh, why not?"
"Are we headed to some sort of homeless shelter?"
"You wound me! We're heading to the Fairgrounds, where we're going to
take advantage of marketing techniques and make a bet with one of
their little 'tourist chits.'"
They stopped at the light on Oak Street. Picard noted the Rite Aid
pharmacy, the Whitney Bank, and something called "Kinko's."
"It's just a copy shop," Q snorted in disdain and as he gestured
towards the sign. "Later we'll walk down Bourbon Street."
"I hardly think we should waste time on sight-seeing."
They started walked again, and when Q spoke up, that distinctly
sincere tone had entered into his voice, the one Picard had grudgingly
learned to trust.
"Jean-Luc, this isn't going to be some in-and-out lark here. We're
stuck in a universe that could be aligned in *any* configuration with
our own. No one, not even my fellow Q, has any idea where we are. We
have no money, no resources, no back-up, and not even the assurance
that scientific laws work here the same way they do in our world.
This is going to take some time."
Picard felt the enormity of their problem settle around him. He
thought of the Enterprise, of his crew waiting for him...getting on
with their lives without him when he didn't return. He thought of
Beverly and Will, Data and...
"Q, is time moving forward in our universe?"
The entity shrugged, crossing the street with a quick look both ways.
"Doesn't matter. When we get home, I'm going to return us to the
second we left -- believe me, it's in my best interests as well."
Picard only nodded, thinking of all they didn't have: identification
papers, a place to sleep that night, something to eat. He was
starving, and thirsty once again, but even as he dwelled on this a
slight breeze swirled around them, bringing with it the perfume of
sweet olive and magnolia. Picard breathed it in with relief: this
universe's first pleasant sensation.
The walk to the Fairgrounds was several miles, and it was well into
the afternoon before they reached their goal, which turned out to be a
horse track, newly renovated by the look of things. There wasn't much
of a crowd, but what there was was quite diverse. Picard saw suits
and T-shirts, slinky dresses and raggedy shorts.
"Q, do our uniforms look like anything in particular to these people?"
"Jogging outfits, probably." Q walked up to the *Welcome to New
Orleans* window and began a spiel about being from Montana and missing
the speed limit. Picard tried to look as though he knew what that
meant, chuckling along with the Fairgrounds employee.
"Are you from out of town too?" she asked Picard, holding up a reel of
tickets.
"Oh yes. From quite some distance, I'm afraid."
The woman smiled at him -- at his accent, he realized -- and handed
both him and Q a ticket, on which he read, "Good for $2 Win." Q
meanwhile took up a free racing form and began scanning the tight
lines of text as they moved away from the window.
"There are four races left," he muttered. "Hm...OK. People have to
bet to win with these tickets, but that won't be a problem for the
next race. Then we'll bet the next one to show. The odds are pretty
good, and it should win -- but it might not. And then in the last two
races we can bet to win. This horse, number three, should kill the
competition in the last race, and the odds are lovely."
"And if this doesn't work?"
Q looked at him.
"It is called 'gambling' for a reason, Q."
"Then we'll sleep in a shelter tonight and try again tomorrow...unless
you have a better idea."
Picard was surprised that they didn't need any identification to place
a wager, but less than surprised to watch all the horses Q picked
cross the finish line first. When they were done, they had $275.45.
With part of it, they had bought several Pepsis and some beans and
rice. Picard found that the combination of sugar, carbohydrates,
protein and caffeine made him feel quite Human again, and, judging by
the renewed energy of his companion, it helped Q out as well.
"We need a cheap hotel," Q said as they walked out of the Fairgrounds,
"which means going downtown."
"Think our expenses can cover some sort of transportation?" Picard
asked, feeling surprisingly mellow with his stomach full.
"The bus, then the streetcar," Q mused. "Then someplace not too
scuzzy."
Picard nodded. His feet were tired. "We're going to need someplace
permanent to stay. I'm sure this is going to involve making a great
deal of equipment, and we'll need to purchase equipment."
"One thing at a time, Mon Capitaine. You know, it's a shame I don't
have much of a singing voice in this form. Street performers are
quite popular in this town."
"You could paint yourself up and get trapped in an invisible box."
"Death before mime, mon ami."
"Q, it really is...extraordinary, your coming along with me like
this."
"Well, if I'd had a bit more warning, I could have kept you from
slipping out in the first place. That *was* what I was trying for.
My fault for getting trapped, really."
"But there must have been a moment when you could have left me to my
fate and saved yourself."
END OF PART ONE
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 2/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:20:49 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 2/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:24:58 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
They were waiting at the bus stop now, and Q met his eyes briefly,
looking uncomfortable. "It occurred to me that I had never done
something like this before. That's quite an opportunity for a Q,
Jean-Luc. Don't worry about it. When we get back, I'll be the talk of
the Continuum."
Picard grunted, distracted by the thought of how much longer he'd now
spent with Q at one time than he ever had before. Even their time in
Shuttlecraft Six was shorter now than this. How odd it was to be with
Q and not have to wonder what second he was going to choose to snap
out in a flash. It felt oddly companionable. On the other hand, he
was more than a little concerned that being stuck together like this
was going to prove that they actually couldn't stand each other's
company.
The bus picked them up and then got to the corner of Carrolton and
Claiborne without incident. From there they picked up the streetcar,
riding it almost to the end of the line. The hour off his feet only
served to make Picard feel how tired he was, and both of them were
close to staggering when Q suddenly perked up and got off at St.
Charles and Julia, walking with determination to the Humming Bird
Hotel and Grill, where double occupancy rooms with a private bath were
$30 a night.
They walked up the stairs to the thick window behind which a snaggle-
toothed man holding a Diet Bark's rented them a room and passed them
some towels. Vaguely, Picard realized Q was getting them one bed, but
he didn't care. He was in serious danger of falling over and sleeping
in the hall, and the idea was to save all the money they could.
Besides, Q had certainly been in his bed before.
"They got a place down the street," the hotel employee burbled at
them, giving Picard a look he hoped didn't mean what it seemed to,
"rents by the hour."
Q grabbed up the key with a saccharine smile. "Has anyone ever told
you about the joys of following the Lord?"
The man scowled at them and backed up a step. Q feigned
disappointment as Picard kept his face impassive and followed Q down
the hall, semi-white towels in his hands. On the way, they passed a
pay-phone, and the captain felt foolishly pleased with himself for
recognizing it, and for realizing he had the means now to make it
work. As exhausted as he was, he was beginning to feel a bit more
centered, more connected to this world, feeling less and less the need
to follow Q on every little thing.
So when his companion opened the door to their shabby, but not filthy
room, he walked in with some assuredness and took the towels into the
tiny bathroom. He looked into the mirror, and the yellow light showed
off every deep line on his face.
"I feel a hundred years old," he murmured.
"Well, if it makes you feel better," Q called from the bedroom, "I
feel five billion years old." The sound of Q's yawn indicated a full-
body effect. "We are going right to sleep after a shower, aren't we?"
"I am." Picard turned with a frown and walked out. "I thought you
hated sleep."
"I do. But right now it's better than trying to stay awake."
Q bent over and took off his shoes, then shrugged his way out of the
uniform on the way to the bathroom, clad only in his briefs and socks
when he reached the door. "I'll be quick." Within one minute, Picard
heard the shower, and when Q came out in just his briefs, Picard had
Q's clothes in his hands.
"I'm going to wash these out in the shower," he explained, smothering
a yawn.
Q nodded through a look of surprise and stared at the bed.
When Picard emerged from the now-steamy room in his briefs, Q was in
bed. The air-conditioner was clacking away, though Picard could feel
that Q had set it on the fan only. He clicked off the light and got
into the bed himself, falling asleep almost instantly.
Q managed to wrestle himself into sleep not long after, but found no
rest. Something was wrong below him, where his feet should find
purchase, and when he stepped forward, gravity snatched at him. He
jerked himself awake, his breathing like a cold fist, and the blood in
his ears roaring like the polluted ocean not far away from the hotel.
Softly, he rose from the bed and padded into the tiny bathroom,
sitting on the cold lid of the toilet to stare into the dark.
*Breathe. Not so fast. Just breathe. How often have you practiced
this? Can't you make it through one night without falling to pieces?
Some impressive omnipotent magnificence you are, can't even go a
little while without your precious powers. You're just like you were
the first time, cowering on his ship while the Calamarain almost
killed everyone and Guinan had a field day dancing on me while I was
down. I can't believe I didn't rip off that stupid hat of hers and
stuff it down her lying throat.
*Yes, that's better. Get the little heart-rate down now. This really
isn't all that different from showing up, just like you
planned...although this isn't France and he hasn't retired yet, and
he's still not sure you're not the biggest pain in the ass he's ever
met. Oh, Mon Capitaine, how did you do this to me? How did I do it
to myself without common sense kicking in? But how did I have a
chance when I was hearing about Quentin Jones, ruler of the seas?
*I should have been able to pull us out. We shouldn't be in this
universe. Are there really no Q here? I keep calling....
*We should be in his ready room now, him looking dignified while he
tries to figure out if I really deserve thanking, and me invading his
space a little, getting him to notice me, seeing if I can get that
little nudge from his instincts that sometimes happens when I'm
around. That nudge, so ephemeral, and yet for that nudge alone, how
much time have I spent (a mortal concept) practicing at being Human?
I wanted to offer him his youth again, his health, another chance to
explore the universe, with me as a companion who seemed so Human, so
much like someone he could really *understand* and trust that
eventually that nudge would become a push, and shove him into my arms.
*And now look at me. Absolutely useless. Unable to make it through
the night without wanting to...what *do* I want to do to him? Joining
with his mind and spirit are out for now. Have I really been reduced
to nothing but sexual needs? That was really never so much a part of
it before, though it *was* a part, no question...
*What do I do? Stay in here until morning? If I stay here long
enough I suppose I'll die on the toilet, like Elvis.*
"Q?" Picard called softly through the door, having woken up to an
empty bed. "Are you all right?"
There was only silence for a minute, then the door opened, and they
looked at each other in the illumination from the street lights.
"Sorry to wake you," Q said quietly.
"What is it?"
Q sighed, and leaned against the doorframe. "When I slept before, I
didn't dream."
Picard remembered with guilt the way he had brushed aside Q's concerns
before, when he had been made mortal and abandoned on the Enterprise.
He had tried since then to think of how it would be to sleep and dream
when one was used to being conscious all the time.
"Dreams can be disturbing," he said, wishing Troi were there, "but
they should fade as you awaken."
"They did," Q complained. "That makes it worse. I...I hate trying to
remember something. I woke up in a panic and I don't know why."
"Were you running from something?"
Q shook his head slowly.
"Were you falling?"
Q jerked in surprise. "How did you know that?"
"A very common dream, Q, considering the circumstances. How can I
help?"
"You can't, I don't think."
"We need to sleep. I hope I don't sound callous, but you're going to
have to get used to it."
Q shrugged away from the doorjamb and walked in resignation to the
bed. He got under the covers, and Picard followed him. Once they'd
settled again, Picard noticed that Q seemed to be lying there with
some tension.
"Were the images really so terrifying?" he asked as gently as he
could.
"No, I don't...it's...I find it comforting, but I don't want to make
you uncomfortable."
"What? What's comforting?"
"Your...uh...body heat."
Picard smiled into the dark. "Are you afraid if we bump in the night
I'm going to scream 'rape?'"
"Well, I wasn't sure the Great Jean-Luc Picard would care for being
treated like a teddy-bear."
Cautiously, Picard reached out and laid a hand on Q's arm. The skin
was cool and a little clammy, but he felt the muscles relax slightly
under his touch.
"I know this is more difficult for you than I can appreciate," he
murmured. "You mustn't hesitate to ask for my help. If it's something
I'm not willing to give, I assure you I'll let you know as politely as
possible."
Q chuckled and turned slightly on his side, being careful not to move
his arm. "I'll remember that, Jean-Luc. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Q."
~~~//~~~
"Fuck you, you bitch!"
"Eat shit!"
"It was a gram of blow! You wanna pay for a gram of blow?"
"I do pay for it, you fucking asshole! On my knees I pay for it!"
"Come back here, you little slut! You hear me?"
"Hmm. Something tells me we're not on the Enterprise."
"Ah, the brilliant captain in action."
The voices in the hall had moved off into silence when Picard got his
eyes fully open. He felt with surprise that his hand was still on Q's
arm. Somehow it seemed more significant in the light. He withdrew it
carefully, and sat up to the sound of a growling stomach, uncertain
whose it was.
"The track won't open for hours," Q said. "Plenty of time for
breakfast."
"I'm quite hungry as well, but we'll need to keep it cheap."
"We'll save Brennan's for later."
"Oh, that's right," Picard said with pleased surprise, "it was open
back then...still, I mean...you know what I mean."
"I do, and the thought of that is scarier than those dreams."
Picard grunted and got out of bed. Their uniforms had dried almost
instantly last night, as the material was designed to do, and hanging
in the bathroom had been good for them. He washed himself off and
dressed and felt much better than he'd expected. They were going to
have to get some suitable clothing, however, as soon as they could
afford it.
Q took his turn in the bathroom while Picard turned on the television
and listened to the news. Vice President "and presidential hopeful"
Al Gore was visiting a relief camp in Bosnia. The new AIDS vaccine
was having difficulties getting approval. The Saints had a slim
chance at the playoffs.
"I'm hungry," Q announced from the bathroom door, and Picard looked to
see that Q had not put on his jacket, tying it instead over his
shoulders. It made their outfits look dissimilar, and Picard nodded
in satisfaction. A thought struck him, and he slipped his com badge
into his pocket, making Q nod in his turn. Jean-Luc noted that his
wet hair was finger-combed, and idly wondered it might look like later
in the New Orleans humidity.
"So, what's your pleasure for breakfast, Mon Capitaine?"
"Coffee, to begin with...though you may not care for it."
"I've had coffee," Q said with a wave of his hand. "Oh! I have an
idea!" He headed out the door, and, with a somewhat indulgent smile,
Picard followed.
They dropped off the key and walked outside to a day just getting
started. Picard tried not to stare at the old men who leaned, loitered
and ambled around them, their clothes and attitude betraying the truly
universal signs of poverty and, in some cases, inebriation. This was
Earth Before. These were Humans as they lived then, awaiting the war
they dimly perceived as inevitable, with their "Doomsday Clock" and
Armageddon-toned sci-fi cinema. If he allowed himself, he could see
prophesy in these men, predators and flotsam, lost souls, forgotten...
"You can't help them, Jean-Luc," Q said quietly as they waited at
another stop light.
"I thought you were without your powers. Are you still telepathic?"
Q sighed. "No. It's just obvious that you'd want to help them, and
your eyes give you away, you know, much more than you think."
Picard thought that over, dodging a white car, then realized he might
know where Q was headed.
"The Café du Monde?"
Q smiled. "Seems appropriate."
It was a museum in the 24th Century, complete with life-like
mannequins which sat at the little tables, pretending to consume café
au lait and begnets by the dozens. Otherwise, however, the
reconstruction was surprisingly similar to the café which came into
view before him. Q chose a table by the railing, and they watched a
man make balloon animals until a waitress came to clean off their
table.
"Two café au laits and two orders of begnets," Picard said. "And an
orange juice."
"In the seventies they didn't have juice here," Q sniffed when she had
gone. "Just java and the donuts. He squinted at the menu on the side
of the napkin dispenser. "They even serve decaf now."
"What's the world coming to?"
Q smiled absently as he unfolded the newspaper he'd bought on their
walk through the Quarter and opened it to the sports section's racing
page. Picard retrieved the news section and for the next ten minutes
was torn between feeling horror at the disasters and scandals he read
about and feeling an odd contentment at the domesticity of sitting
here with Q, two friends having breakfast while the world woke up. He
was increasingly aware of how much Q wasn't telling him, but he was
also amazed at the effort Q was putting into making their predicament
feel like an adventure, or even a vacation.
Their waitress returned and deposited two small glasses of water, an
orange juice, two café au laits, and six begnets dusted with powered
sugar. Q paid her with a large tip and told her they would want more
coffee in ten minutes.
"What are you snickering at?" Picard asked mildly a few minutes later.
"You have sugar on your chin."
Picard retrieved a napkin. "You have it all over your front."
Q frowned and slapped his napkin over his shirt while Picard watched
their waitress approach to confirm their order of more coffee. The
captain waited until the plates were clean of all but their residual
sugar, and their second cups of coffee half-drunk, before he leaned
back in the green vinyl chair and crossed his arms.
"Ready to go?" Q asked a little too quickly.
"Q, it's past time we talked about this."
"Jean-Luc, I had my reasons."
"Not good enough. Q --" He held up a hand firmly, and with a sigh Q
leaned back in his own chair and crossed his legs before settling his
hands on the table to drum his fingers. "Q, you've put yourself in
true danger, coming here with me, and I'm not going to believe it's
over some sort of need for adventure. And besides, I've watched you
go for almost twenty-four hours without seriously complaining. It's
unnatural, and I want to know what's going on."
"Is it so impossible that I just want to help you?" Q asked in
martyred tones.
"No, it's not impossible. You've helped me before and I've
appreciated it. But there is more going on here, and I want to know
what it is."
Q looked at him blankly a long moment, but Picard refused to be put
off, and with a slight sagging of his shoulders, Q sighed, "I didn't
lie about what happened, but as for why it happened...it was Q's
fault...the wormhole."
"So this is another order from the Continuum?"
"No, it was just...his fault."
"Q, I have no intention of continuing to follow your lead here if
you're not going to tell me what's going on."
"What exactly do you see as your alternatives, Jean-Luc? You have no
idea what universe you're in, and if you want to see home again, we're
in this together."
"Is that really how you want me to feel about all this?"
Q looked ready to cut him in two, then scowled and looked away. When
he spoke, his tone was icy, but his eyes were incongruously sad. "It
wasn't my fault, but I am responsible in some way. I was *there* when
he came through, to see me."
"Who?"
"Q."
Picard allowed himself an angry sigh. "Which one of you?"
"Exactly."
There was a rather lengthy silence.
"It was a Q from another universe. One of my counterparts. He wanted
to see me."
Picard's eyebrows shot up. "Why?"
"He wanted to see what I was up to."
"Do Qs do that sort of thing often?"
Q fingered his coffee cup a moment, then lifted it up for a sip. "Not
really. It tends to cause things like spatial disturbances. I sent
him on his way, but I didn't realize...I didn't think he'd be so
careless. If I'd checked things out more thoroughly, you wouldn't
have run into trouble. So you see, I'm just doing what I have to
here. I'm sure, if they could have, the Continuum would have
insisted"
Jean-Luc frowned over Q's rough tone. "You not going to convince me
you're not helping me because you care about what happens to me, Q."
Q blinked at him, then pushed his chair back. "Let's get going."
Picard let the matter drop for now, joining Q and then walking from
the café with him. From what he could tell, they would have plenty of
time to discuss it later.
Plenty of time...Good Lord.
"While you're at the track, I should spend some time finding out as
much as I can about this place," the captain said.
"Actually, I'm going to need you at the Fairgrounds."
"What for?"
Q waited until the had crossed the street, turning to walk through the
Jackson Square courtyard, red with flowers and draped with tourists
enjoying the cooler October air. A young boy was trying to climb the
Jackson statue and touch the horse while his sister screamed at him to
come down.
"Several reasons, but for protection, mostly." He held up a hand at
the obvious question. "I've spent a lot of time in this form
recently, but there are a lot of things I can't do well in it without
my powers. One of them is put up a fight. I'm going to be carrying
quite the wad of cash by the end of the day. Someone might try to
take it from me. A man alone is an easier mark than a pair. Also, it
would be better if we split the betting up between us. And besides, I
want the company."
"Oh, well, why didn't you say?"
Q allowed a smile, and they walked on to the end of the streetcar
line.
"After today, we're taking cabs," Q said sourly.
"No argument from me, but we're not going to keep betting on the track
for funds."
"No, it will be the stock market after today. I'll be able to do it
all on the phone, as soon as we hack into an obliging bank so I can
set us up with an account. Besides, tomorrow we shop!"
"That should be a sight: you let loose in a clothing shop."
"Oh, don't pretend you don't like the idea of getting some new civvies
yourself."
Picard grunted as they neared the group of people waiting for the
streetcar. They were an assortment of business people having lunch.
Picard realized he and Q had slept quite late, and thought that one
thing he'd have to buy soon was a watch. Some people were dressed in
long shorts and carrying cameras and somehow screaming "tourists," and
then there were many people in denim and white T-shirts. Everyone had
a slightly hostile, wary attitude that Picard found depressing even
while it brought his instincts online. He realized it had been
foolish to suggest that Q go alone to the track, and would have said
so, but the moment seemed only suitable for standing there quietly,
watching the rumbling green streetcar come into view, unload its
passengers, and then take on the crowd that included him and Q. When
the entity put the money into the machine for both of them, the driver
seemed to give them a look, but there were so many people around that
it was doubtlessly Picard's imagination.
They managed to find seats, and settled in for the hour-long ride
uptown, and somewhere around Washington Street, Picard realized he was
enjoying himself.
It was not a high level of enjoyment, but it was definitely
measurable. He was having a good time. It was thrilling to be in
Earth's past without worrying about messing up the timeline. It was
fascinating to watch the people around them, to think about their
lives and their many possible futures. And it was simply a relief
after recent events - facing down admirals over the Federation's
recent violations of the Prime Directive, fighting in the Dominion
War, hearing almost every day about some friend or colleague who was
dead or missing -- to have this sort of challenge. Gathering up
funds, calculating just where they were, and then figuring out how to
get home were sizable challenges, but they didn't make his guts twist
up or whisper with awful voices in his head.
And, Jean-Luc acknowledged, it was hard to be too concerned with Q
working with him. It was a bad habit, but he couldn't stop thinking
that if something really bad came along, Q would be able to handle it.
He tried to tell himself that Q was without his powers, and in many
ways more vulnerable to peril than he was himself, but he also knew
that Q would be frightened if there were something to be frightened
of. He also couldn't help remembering that the entity, though trapped
in his current form, boasted an IQ of 2005 and more knowledge than the
Enterprise-E computer could hold. Though it wasn't as good as having
his crew with him, it was infinitely preferable to being here alone.
Picard smiled privately. That wasn't a thought he'd have had a few
years ago.
"I'm glad you're happy," Q groused quietly. "My feet hurt already and
we're going to be walking around all day."
"Sore feet and sleeping, Q: part of the Human experience."
"Hmph. Don't remind me."
Feeling oddly comforted by Q's griping, Picard leaned back against the
hard wooden seat and enjoyed looking at the houses passing by. The
subsequent bus trip had less scenery, but they'd managed to time
things well. The Fairgrounds were open, the first race was getting
set to go.
As he had the day before, Picard gave Q his endorsement with efficient
compliance, and apart from conversing about their task, they spoke
little. Q spread the winnings out over the races, making several bets
per race, going to different windows, having Picard make half the
bets. Their most visible moment occurred when they won the trifecta,
though Picard stood there calmly as he took possession of twenty
thousand dollars, and returned the teller's tight smile.
They caught a cab after the last race, almost $70,000 in their
pockets, and headed for the Fairmont. Picard walked over the spotless
dark red carpet and booked a room -- he toyed with the idea of getting
two rooms, but, remembering how Q had needed his company last night,
settled for two beds.
Q went into the gift shop to purchase five maps, a copy of every
newspaper in the place, two watches, two T-shirts with the smallest
logos he could find, two pairs of sweat pants, four pairs of white
socks, some disposable razors and shaving cream for sensitive skin,
two deodorants, and one comb. The rest he was assuming would be in
the room.
Q bit his lip unconsciously, wondering if Picard were getting two
rooms. He should have told Jean-Luc they needed to save the
money...except that that was rather obviously a lie.
He smiled to himself. With a computer and a modem, he could simply
have hacked into some bank's mainframe and helped himself to millions.
He thought over the day spent at the track, and chuckled to himself as
the clerk rang up his Human necessities.
*The things I do for you and your sense of morality, Mon Capitaine.*
What would he do if Picard had gotten two rooms? Jean-Luc was being
incredibly accommodating to keep Q in line, but how far could he push?
One night in a room alone and he was going to claw his eyes out.
He walked slowly towards the registration desk, then spotted Jean-Luc
by the column-display of local sites. The man smiled at him without
overtones, and Q nodded towards the elevators, where they met, not
speaking until they were alone behind the doors and Picard had pushed
the button for the seventh floor.
END OF PART TWO
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 3/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:21:46 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 3/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:25:08 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
"I got us a room with a view, I hear," he said with that same smile.
"It better have a bathtub, or we're checking out," Q growled. "And I
want room service the second I get out."
"Room service?" Picard smiled to himself at the thought of Q on the
phone with a menu in his hand.
Q sighed. "Stuck in the City That Care Forgot with a rube."
Jean-Luc shook his head slightly and let it go.
There was a "ding" and the doors opened to a startled-looking man and
woman who backed up a half-step, then smiled wanly and got in. Picard
noticed they had that "tourist" air about them, and that they kept
more distance than was really necessary between themselves and him and
Q. He suddenly became aware of his own body odor and the stubble on
his chin, and stared up at the numbers above the door. When they
reached 7, he moved quickly through the doors even as he heard a
muffled gasp behind him. He turned quickly, but Q's face was all
innocence as he stepped out.
Picard waited until the doors closed.
"What did you do?"
Q shrugged elaborately. "Nothing, I'm sure."
The captain rolled his eyes and followed the numbered placards to
their room, then opened up the half-suite with relish, thinking fondly
of a bath himself. The room was full of soft colors, clean smells, and
dark wood furniture, and when he pulled back the drapes he saw the
pleasing skyline of the ancient skyscrapers. It was starting to get
dark.
Q walked directly into the bathroom, and spent almost an hour in
there, while Picard figured out how to order food, then paid the young
man dressed in a white shirt and black pants -- which struck the
captain as being an odd choice for a server -- who brought the food.
He tipped 15%, waited for the man to leave, and then called through
the bathroom door that their food had come.
Q emerged in a shroud of steam, wearing one of the T-shirts and a pair
of sweats. Picard spared a thought to be grateful the bathroom here
was connected to a small dressing room.
"I feel like a new Q! Oh! You got the entire menu, Jean-Luc!"
"Not quite," Picard murmured.
"Steak, lobster, shrimp cocktails, red wine, stuffed potatoes, stuffed
mushrooms, and creamed spinach. You expecting guests, or is this all
for little ole me?"
Jean-Luc shrugged uncomfortably. "I thought we deserved a little
spoiling."
Q frowned and stopped flapping his hands about. "Now you're the one
who's not saying something."
Picard made himself meet Q's dark brown eyes, seeing in his mind Q in
his judge's robes, Q helpless on his bridge, and Q promising to take
care of Vash all at the same time. "Q, you are the most dangerous
person I have ever met, and at times I have been so thoroughly
disgusted with your selfishness that I would have given almost
anything never to have been plagued by you again."
"There'd better be a 'but' coming, Jean-Luc."
"But for the past day and a half you've been patient, considerate,
brilliant, and practical, to say nothing of your altruism in coming
after me in the first place."
"So steak and lobster means 'thanks a million?'"
"No. I'm *trying* to say that if I can help you with all this, I want
to. If a shared room and nice meals help you to deal with what must
be an absolutely horrific experience for you, then I'm all too happy
to provide them. And if you have other needs that need meeting while
we're getting ourselves back home, then I want to hear about them, Q.
Quite frankly, you're going to have to put up with a few dozen demands
of mine, and if this partnership is going to work, we're going to have
to do all we can for each other."
Several expressions had traveled across Q's face during Picard's
speech, so many that the man had little idea what any of them meant.
Incongruously, the primary sentiment expressed seemed almost to be
sadness, but then, when Q met his eyes again, he simply seemed
approving and mildly tired.
"Agreed, Mon Capitaine. Now, dinner's getting cold."
The food was quite good, especially to the captain after his years of
replicators, and they finished almost all of it. Then Jean-Luc took
his turn in the bathroom, soaking and scrubbing off the dirt of what
seemed half the city. When he emerged in his own new clothes, he saw
Q lounging on the right-hand bed, changing the channels on the
television with a small control box, and no sign of their uniforms.
"Oh, I sent them to the laundry," Q said absently. Picard poured
himself the last of the wine and spread the newspapers out on the
other bed, reading quietly while Q changed channels and made the
occasional remark, many of which were outside the man's frame of
reference, and all of which were scornful.
"Too bad there's no wrestling on," Q lamented at one point. "You'd
like that. It's almost Klingon."
"Perhaps another night," Picard murmured through a yawn. "I've found
a good place to buy computers, and I can't yet find any major
historical differences between our universe at this time and this
universe, except, perhaps..."
Q had turned the sound down on the television and was looking at him.
"What?"
"Well, I'm fairly certain that there's more unrest in the Mid-East
than there should be, but it may just be the way the newspapers enjoy
describing the tension."
Q snagged the New York Times and scanned through the news section for
the right headlines, then quickly read the articles. "No, you're
right. This is more than it should be." Q looked thoughtful. "That
could be very significant...or not. Look, are you ready to go to
sleep yet?"
"Yes, quite." Picard began folding up the newspapers when he felt Q's
eyes on him. Keeping things as casual as he could, he rose, turned
off the lights, and then got under the covers of Q's bed, sliding in
next to the entity and lightly touching his arm. Q almost seemed to
shiver, but then turned over -- again not moving his arm -- and was
quiet. Picard wondered if he himself weren't feeling a little
comforted by Q's body heat, and then closed his eyes and went
immediately to sleep.
Picard awoke again in the early morning, but not because Q had arisen.
He was a little warmer than he wanted to be, but the room's
temperature couldn't be faulted. No, his present circumstances were
caused by a little too much body heat coming from his companion,
transmitted through his back, which was pressed up against Q's body
while the entity's long arms had him wrapped up securely, holding him
in place. Q's face was pressed into his neck, and his warm breath was
tickling him slightly.
Picard thought about screaming in horror and leaping out of bed. He
thought about turning around and punching Q in the nose. He thought
about slipping out of bed quietly and taking up residence with the
newspapers. He thought about nudging Q to see if he would roll away.
He thought about ignoring the whole thing and going back to sleep.
This last one gained favor as he became quite certain that Q really
was unconscious. He wondered if the Q maintained some sort of mental
closeness while in the Continuum which allowed them to rest without
actually sleeping. Or perhaps this was some sort of mimicked Human
instinct to cuddle which was being brought out by Q's anxiety over his
powerlessness.
*Well, whatever it is, it isn't killing me, and I *did* tell Q I
wanted to help him. If he needs to do this for awhile...still, I do
feel ridiculous. But hysterics won't help. Dieu, he's like a
furnace.*
Very slowly, Picard pulled away the covers from the front of his body,
allowing some of the warmth to escape, and in a few minutes he closed
his eyes and went back to sleep. In the morning, he woke up alone, to
sounds of Q's pottering around in the bathroom. He wondered if his
companion even knew what he'd done in the night, and then smothered a
laugh at the thought of Q awakening to find himself wrapped around him
and reacting with horror.
*Well, he did warn me he would treat me like a teddy-bear. I should
have known to take him literally.*
A knock at the door got him out of bed, and he was soon smiling
politely at another young man in black pants and a white shirt who
wheeled in a tray laden with breakfast. The man set up their tray
between the beds as Picard fetched his payment.
"You two from out of town?" the server asked.
"Yes, rather."
"You'll like it here, trust me, whatever you see on TV." The man
turned to him and looked at him with a strange sense of camaraderie,
as though they were newly met members in a club. "We're having a
march Friday night to Charity. Consider yourselves invited."
Picard's smile was fixed. "Yes, thank you. We will if we can."
The man smiled and seemed almost ready to slap him on the back, then
smiled over his tip and left.
Picard turned at the chuckling coming from the bathroom door. Q stood
there with his arms crossed, wear his T-shirt and uniform pants, his
face shaven and his hair neatly combed. Picard thought absently that
this was all starting to feel quite civilized.
"You don't by any chance realize what he meant about the march, do
you?" Q asked.
"I gather it's some sort of political protest."
They moved towards breakfast and sat on their beds. There was coffee,
croissants, grits, bacon, and jelly.
"Point to you, but that's not all that he meant." Q snagged the paper
from the table and opened it to the news section, scanning for the
article he wanted before passing it to Jean-Luc. The captain set down
his coffee and read about the man who'd been in the paper yesterday, a
victim of something called "gay-bashing." He looked up with a frown
to find Q laughing at him.
"Our waiter assumed we're lovers," Q informed him with obvious relish.
"He thought we'd want to join in their Gay Pride protest."
Picard knew Q was only looking for a reaction from him, but couldn't
quite keep himself from reacting anyway. Of course, to others they'd
appear homosexual, which wouldn't matter in his own time, but
here...Earth had been very odd about accepting homosexuality in this
time. On the one hand, it was the first time Western Civilization had
began to accept it publicly, even legally. On the other...
He forced himself to take a sip of coffee and jelly up a roll. "Since
we're going to have to do all we can to keep from interacting with,
and thus influencing, others, we're going to give people the
impression of great intimacy between us."
"You going to pretend it doesn't bother you that people will think
we're doing the Wild Thing?"
"I'm not sure I know what that is, Q. But whatever you mean, it's
somewhat irrelevant to the task at hand."
Q sighed, his game spoiled, and turned serious. "Not completely.
We're going to have to be careful about this, Jean-Luc. At this time
in history, gay men are automatic members of a tightly knit community,
which means they automatically get some real hatred from outsiders.
We'll need to watch where we go at night, and if we have to leave the
city, we may have to worry about much more obvious discrimination. Of
course we'll look a lot less gay when we're no longer dressed alike,
but there will always be that problem."
"I don't see why," Picard objected.
"Because neither of us is interested in re-learning our mannerisms to
announce to others that we're *not* gay. In America at this time,
straight men spend a considerable amount of energy demonstrating to
others that they're heterosexual. Tell me, if Riker put his hand on
your shoulder on the bridge and whispered in your ear that you had an
invisible intruder on the bridge, what would you do?"
Picard frowned. "I'd run a scan for any anomalous readings on the
bridge and quietly summon security."
"You wouldn't feel the need to lean away from him and make it clear to
everyone that what he said was completely in the line of duty?"
"Of course not!"
"Well, here, that's what you'd do. What anyone who didn't want to be
labeled a 'fag' would do. You're comfortable with yourself, with your
sexuality, your identity. Around here, that's going to give everyone
the idea that you're homosexual." Q seemed slightly depressed by the
level of Picard's scowl. "But this *is* New Orleans, Jean-Luc, with a
highly visible, even flamboyant, gay community. Very few people will
really care one way or the other, and, as you say, we'll be keeping
our contact with others light."
A new expression joined those already in residence on Picard's
features.
"What?" Q asked.
"Nothing. You know, I quite like having grits for breakfast. I
wonder if Beverly would like them."
"I take it back. You'll be wonderful at defending your sexuality."
Picard looked angry now. "I was only trying to avoid an inappropriate
question, Q."
"You may ask me whatever you like, Jean-Luc."
"In what ways has the Continuum interfered in Human history?"
"...as long as it's a personal question."
Picard seemed torn, and played a while with his coffee cup. Q
continued to watch him expectantly, and finally, with a sigh, the man
noted, "You're somewhat...suggestive in your mannerisms yourself, Q.
It's made me wonder, I admit..."
"Yes?"
"Do the Q actually have a personal gender preference? I mean, do you
think of yourself as male?"
Q looked obscurely disappointed, but answered readily enough, "Yes.
The Q are actually beyond needing gender, but it is a racial instinct.
I've mentioned my 'brothers and sisters' of the Continuum often enough
to reveal that. I even have one sister who's a favorite of mine. We
joined recently, to produce issue."
Picard blinked at him. "You had a child?"
"Yes, though....the Continuum resisted the idea at first, and we were
raising him on our own, but then everyone fell in love with the little
tyke, and it seems I hardly get to see him anymore."
"That's most surprising, considering the resistance Amanda Rogers met
with."
"Oh, her." Q flapped a hand and poured them both more coffee. "She
was a Human who became a Q, and when I got her back to the Continuum
with her parents in tow it was the same as it would have been if Riker
had joined -- a legal adult with new powers who just needed some
guidelines. My child, well, the child of the Continuum, is an infant,
learning more about us than we know ourselves. None of us has any
idea what he'll become in time. It's quite exhilarating."
"Sounds somewhat reckless to me," Picard noted sourly.
"Yes, it is." Q leaned forward suddenly, placing an elbow on the
table and his chin in his hand. "Jean-Luc, you've been a wonderful
influence on me, don't get me wrong, but in some ways you led me in
the wrong direction. I conformed to the wishes of my superiors, but
it took an outcast Q to show me that I had a cause for which to fight.
I fought it with the determination worthy of a Picard, and it was as
reckless as you yourself were when saving the ambassador on Milikin
III, or the population of Penthara Four."
Picard smiled, though somewhat suspiciously. "Q, I do believe you
have a story to tell me."
By the time the they both bathed and dressed and were ready to shop,
Picard had heard all about Quinn, and the civil war in the Continuum,
and Q's involvement with the crew of the Voyager. For some reason, he
was pleased that Q's experience with Humanity now had reference beyond
that of his interactions with the Enterprise crew, and he was forward
to the day he could offer to buy Kathryn Janeway a drink and ask her
about her adventures...especially those in the Continuum. He wondered
if she realized the honor of having been there twice, and thought idly
that in the end she might be some sort of Human-Q ambassador.
*Better she than I,* he'd thought at one point, surprising himself,
but meaning it. Whichever Human was eventually picked to fill that
role would have a very difficult task indeed, and his plate was
already full.
The computer was the most important thing, and they rode the taxi
directly to CompUSA and told the driver to wait. Inside, they walked
to the best the store had to offer and quickly found themselves
approached by a salesperson. They left soon after with a top-of-the-
line system, including a printer and built-in 92K modem which would do
until they got a permanent lodging and a direct line to the Internet.
They ferried the system back to the hotel, then dismissed the taxi and
set things up in their room. Once Q was online (100 free hours and no
money up front from the Sprint Network), it took him only half an hour
to set himself and Picard up with checking accounts. They then walked
to Hibernia and transferred the money, then to Canal Place and then
the Riverwalk, systematically searching through stores selling men's
clothes.
Picard would have been happy to quit long before they did, except that
shopping with Q turned out to be a spectacle in a way he hadn't
imagined. He'd expected campy oohing and ahhing, and instead was
startled with the entity's efficient concern over fashion, image, and
quality. He also appreciated the way Q suggested purchases without
actually hovering, and never once acted as though they were a
"couple."
While they both bought business suits of dark gray, which they had
altered and arranged to be sent to the hotel, they concentrated on
clothes they could wear on the street. Q had insisted on their both
getting jeans and khakis at a place called The Gap. Picard had liked
the look of a bomber's jacket from Banana Republic, and Q had opted
for a long black coat from Brooks Brothers. They both got sturdy
walking shoes, as well as the necessities of underwear and socks.
Picard stopped at someplace called The Footlocker for running attire,
and with a trace of disdain Q bought tennis shoes, asking the manager
of the store about good local athletic clubs. Jean-Luc also bought
some comfortable and cool pajamas, and was quietly adamant that Q do
so as well. He couldn't help thinking that if he were going to be
pressed up to Q every night for the next few weeks, he didn't want
either of them in sweat pants.
A stop at Bookstar allowed Picard to purchase some history books, as
well as some extremely crude starcharts and a couple guidebooks to the
city. Q scooped up issues of all the newspapers and Wallstreet and
Internet magazines.
They were dressed quite differently now, with Picard in khakis and a
green T-shirt, and Q in black pants and chambray, and Picard was
pleased to note this did seem to make a difference in the way people
interacted with them. When they had lunch at a diner that Picard
thought was ridiculously quaint, no one seemed concerned with them at
all, and only in retrospect did Picard realize how many people had
ogled him and Q at the Café du Monde.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they got back to the hotel. Q
plonked down in front of the computer and set himself up with
everything he needed to buy and trade their way into a very quiet
fortune. Picard read over the world's history and found it exactly
like his own universe's until about a century previous to this time,
at which point small changes began to occur. They grew, and included
three atom bombs dropped on Japan in WWII, Gandhi dying from old age,
and a great deal more conflict in the Middle East than should have
been possible without a major, if not global, consequence.
Unsurprisingly, most of the conflict concerned the shortage in fossil
fuels.
When the tight printed lines of history began to blur, he looked
through the starcharts, and knew somehow they'd have to get the use of
a proper telescope. He needed accurate measurements, but his instincts
told him the heavens were a little off...just a little, but enough,
perhaps, to help them figure out "where" they were.
Picard understood the nature of their task well enough to know that
differences were the key. They needed to know some measurement of the
exact difference between their universe and this one to know the
alignment between them. And then they were going to have to figure
out some way to create enough power using the materials available to
signal the Enterprise. Doubtlessly, they wouldn't get the sort of
resolution needed for a voice communication, but he had a number of
codes...and then as soon as Q was "home" enough to have his powers,
he'd take them back to their original departure time.
Perhaps they should just send a general signal, Picard thought. Who
knew how much time was passing in their world? The Enterprise might
not be around anymore.
"That's a sad expression, Mon Capitaine," Q noted, then yawned.
Picard was going to take that yawn as a commentary upon his company,
when he realized it was after one am.
"Look at the time," he murmured, smothering his own yawn. "Time for
sleep, I think."
"Ah, a chance to break in the PJs." Q leapt up, then halted himself,
looking at his roommate. "I suppose I should offer to let you go
first."
Picard waved an arm. "I don't mind."
Q smiled and went into the luxurious bath, splashing about in the
shower and emerging within another cloud of steam, new pajamas a
little creased from the bag, damp hair curling as he padded across the
room and got into bed. When Picard came out, he rather hoped Q would
already be asleep, and turned off the lights quietly.
"Jean-Luc," Q murmured. "When the market opens tomorrow we're going
to make a killing with soybean oil, orange juice, and lumber."
"Wonderful."
"And then we'll diversify with some blue chip stocks, saving about
half for more commodities trading..." Q yawned again. "It shouldn't
be long before we can fund some real...whatever we'll need to do."
"Look through a telescope. That's our first priority."
"Shouldn't be too hard. Aren't you going to get closer?"
"Q..."
"Yes?"
"Here. Is that better?"
"Why, Jean-Luc! You impetuous rascal! Our elbows are touching!"
"Go to sleep, Q."
"Did you remember to brush your teeth?"
Picard sighed in response, then reached out and placed his hand on Q's
forearm and closed his eyes. The entity fell quiet, and the day's
toll put them both quickly to sleep. Picard woke up twice in the
night, once to find Q's arm across his chest, a second time to find
them spooned up as they had been the night before. The thin sleepwear
helped. It was almost cozy.
In fact, Picard suddenly wanted to giggle. Here was the Great and
Powerful Q, who'd flung his ship into the path of the Borg, who's
almost made him destroy Humanity, who'd embarrassed the hell out of
him in front of his "merry men," who'd menaced him more often than he
could count. And now Q was cuddled up behind him like a child. It
was...strangely flattering.
But he was too tired to enjoy the irony for long, and when the morning
woke him Q was again in the bathroom.
*What does he do in there? Wherever we find to live had better have
at least two full baths, or I'm going to spend all my time waiting.*
And then he was on his back, his hand on his stomach, shaking with
laughter. Naturally, Q came out half-dressed to demand to know what
was going on. At the sight of the entity with his pants on and his
shirt off, Picard laughed harder. There were actually tears forming.
When he could look at Q again, there was a puzzled and involuntary
smile that reached all the way to his dark brown eyes.
Picard finally sobered and sat up, pushing back the covers. "It's
just our...enforced domesticity. The past few days have so little to
do with how I think of you."
Q frowned over that, crossing his arms and leaning against the
doorjamb. "And how do you think of me, Jean-Luc?"
Picard found himself stymied, and stood up, stretching his back
slightly. He really wanted to go for a run...and then realized there
was no reason he couldn't.
"I don't know, Q. I suppose I think of you as a powerful and
unpredictable entity. I'm going for a run."
"I'm going to expand our fortune and get us access to a telescope."
Picard nodded and headed to the bathroom, where he changed into his
gear, then came out and tucked his key card into his pocket.
"It might fall out," Q said absently, looking at his computer and
typing as he talked. "I'm going to be here. Just leave it."
Picard pulled out the card and set it by the TV, which was on without
the sound. Suddenly, he felt bad about leaving Q alone. "I won't be
gone long."
"All right." Q didn't look away from the screen.
Frowning at himself, Picard left the room and rode down the elevator
to the street. There were pleasant breezes mixing with the morning's
humidity, chilling his sweat slightly as he ran. The sidewalks
weren't particularly crowded, and he enjoyed looking at the old
architecture. He found he kept having to remind himself he wasn't
jogging on the holodeck. He returned to the path along the river,
then ran up and down Esplanade, somewhat puzzled at the Jean LaFitte
House, which was a reconstructed museum in his time and seemed to be a
sort of hotel now.
He tried very hard not to stare at the homeless people huddling in
doorways, asking people for money, or stretched out, still sleeping in
the damp autumn morning. He wondered what they would do in the
winter, and how they could live in plain sight of everyone and seem to
be somehow not there at all. It all made him run harder than he
should, and he was a little dizzy with panting when he pulled up
outside the hotel.
His head cleared as he stretched, slowly, quietly enjoying the simple
physical certainty of it.
"New in town?"
Picard didn't realize at first the question was meant for him. Only
when he was standing at rest and about to turn to walk into the hotel
did he see the rather seedy young man smoking a cigarette and "eyeing"
him.
"No," he answered shortly, and jerked open the glass door, smothering
his spike of anger.
"I then I said, 'Cody, you were born to be a star!'"
Howls of laughter, a round of applause. Q was sitting at the computer
with fierce concentration, tapping keys seemingly at random. Picard
had no doubt millions were being made.
"I can't believe this kid," a man was saying on the television.
"There he is in the little outfit, and you're standing there with
Frank, and he takes a bow!"
END OF PART THREE
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 4/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:22:42 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 4/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:25:20 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
alt-startrek-creative-erotica-moderated
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
More screams of laughter. Picard wanted to object to the volume
level, but forced himself on into the bathroom, where he showered in
near-scalding water, shaved, and dressed in jeans and an olive-green
T-shirt that he almost tore when ripping off the tag.
Nothing had changed when he emerged, except that he noticed his
portion of breakfast waiting for him: juice, an urn of coffee, rolls,
butter and jam. He poured a cup of the coffee, which was passably
warm, and stood there.
"I'm really proud of the film," some woman was saying. "I knew the
director likes to work with people who know their lines on Day One, so
the first day of shooting, I had everything down, and, then, wouldn't
you know it, there was a last-minute script change, and I got so
nervous, but then we decided not to shoot the scene, because Steven
didn't like the look of the sky, so we shot the original scene, and I
was okay."
"Oh, can you imagine that, Kathy?" the man said, groaning in sympathy.
"The pressure you actresses are under."
"I couldn't do it!" the blonde woman shouted, throwing out her arms.
"It's all I can do to keep up with this maniac." She jerked her thumb
at the man. "Believe me. It's all I can do!"
More laughter, and Picard jerked slightly as the set was clicked off.
He looked up from his coffee to see Q setting down the remote and
stretching his arms. Then he dropped them and turned off the computer
before meeting Jean-Luc's eyes.
"I've made us all the money we're going to need for a while, I should
think."
"Good work."
Q shrugged with a half-smile. "It was actually something less than
sheer torture. I'd forgotten the pleasures gained from simple tasks."
Picard grunted and drained his coffee. His empty stomach protested.
"Counselor Troi isn't here, you know."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, are you going to tell me what's bothering you, or are you
just going to stand there scowling at your coffee cup until it
cracks?"
Jean-Luc looked at Q carefully. There was no mockery there, nor
cloying concern. He looked rather like Troi at this instant, almost
professional in his interest. He could feel himself responding to the
offer, as he had trained himself to do with her. Q was right, she
wasn't here, but could he really tolerate Q as a stand-in for however
long they were stuck here?
"You know," Q said with quiet practicality, "when I have problems
here, you're going to be my only person to talk to as well."
Picard allowed himself a dramatic shudder, and felt the tension ease.
He sighed, met Q's eyes, and tried to cut through to the issue ASAP.
"It's being here, being unable to help these people. A young man came
up to me...I wanted to rush him to Beverly and turn him over to people
trained to help him, to give his life back to him. He was offering
himself, as though he were an article of clothing to be bought in the
street, and for what? A meal? Some sort of hallucinogen? I've seen
so many desperate people, but not Humans, on Earth. Even in the 21st
Century, it somehow...wasn't so bad."
"Because that was a war zone?"
Picard thought about that. "Probably. They had an enemy to face, a
future to embrace. These people...are they headed towards a global
conflict that will finish them all off? How can they live like this?"
Q didn't answer the rhetorical question, simply sitting there,
thinking about what Jean-Luc had said, and, suddenly, the captain
smiled. "You're better at this than I would have imagined."
Q smiled back. "I told you, I've been practicing." Picard chuckled,
and realized he did feel better. Then Q stood abruptly. "We need to
change."
"I just got into this."
"And you look lovely, Johnny, but we have an appointment with a radio
telescope and we need to look like scientists. It's also something of
a drive, so we'd better get going."
"A drive?"
"Yes, they dropped off the rental car while you were running." Q
didn't bother to mention the problems he'd had online, or the laws
he'd technically broken, getting them driver's licenses.
The radio telescope proved to be a good four hours' drive out of New
Orleans, with both of them taking shifts behind the wheel. Q drove in
traffic, while Picard felt comfortable enough with the automatic shift
to drive the long stretches on the freeways. The scenery was
incredibly lush, the trees shimmering dark green with the slight wind,
heavy with early fall's inheritance of summer. There was water
everywhere, and after an hour or so of it, Picard knew he was enjoying
himself again. There was something healing in all that relentless
growth.
The telescope itself was fascinating. None of these were still in
working order in Picard's time, and when he and Q (supposedly radio
astronomers attached to SETI visiting from Washington, DC) were given
the tour, he managed to get on the team leader's good side with his
questions and obvious interest.
It was dark when they made it back to the hotel, comfortably not
speaking as they rode the elevator up with their arms full of radio
starcharts. Both spent the minimum time needed in the bath, and then
crawled into bed with grunted "goodnights." Picard didn't wake up at
all in the night, but when his eyes cracked into the sunlight
streaming through the window they forgot to drape, he could feel the
sweat on his back from where he'd been pressed against Q, and the bed
was still warm from the entity's body.
*Soon we're going to wake up together and have to deal with this.
But...what does that mean, exactly? I don't suppose I'm going to ask
him to stop, not when he's being so...I mean, if this is all he wants
in return...perhaps I should just see to it that we don't have to
confront anything for a while.*
He rose and ordered breakfast, then sat down and started in on the
charts. Q joined him, and by lunch they had exact readings on the
differences between the stars' positions here, and those back in their
own universe (the *exact* position of which Q supplied). After that,
they did the equations together to determine the exact strength,
wavelength, confinement polarity and "direction" of the signal they
would need to reach their own universe.
Now they just needed 24th Century technology to create it.
After making a few phone calls, they spent the afternoon looking at
warehouses and finally settled on one on Tchoupitoulas, set back far
enough from the river but nicely isolated and secure with intact
fences, an alarm system, and a sturdy gate. Since they'd gone by the
bank first, Picard paid the first three month's rent in cash, was
calmly handed the keys, and saw the realtor out.
The concrete floor of the main storage area had been swept clean, but
there was some junk in the office and upstairs living quarters. Q
tried to help shift some of the empty boxes, but when Picard opened
the unplugged refrigerator, the entity fled to the car "to buy some
things."
The living quarters had been a nice surprise, and the main reason
they'd picked this particular warehouse. The original intent must
have been to provide adequate residence for several workers. There
had been two baths, a large kitchen, and four bedrooms, but someone
had knocked out the wall between two of the bedrooms, making a large
main room, and keeping the two other bedrooms intact.
After the refrigerator, which Picard cleaned out with supplies from
under the sink and *without* thinking about what he was doing, the
rest of the place wasn't so bad. He was thinking about pressing his
luck with a shower when someone buzzed the gate. He used the
intercom, and was soon showing delivery men to one of the bedrooms
upstairs, watching in some amusement as they assembled an enormous
four-poster bed that took up almost the entire room, and came with a
canopy frame and its own little wooden steps. Picard found himself
actually admiring the ornate carvings in the dark wood that looked
like ivy and very small flowers, but half-way through construction, he
was answering the buzzer again, and now let in men with two large
armchairs, an enormous television with an elaborate sound system, a
dining table and four chairs.
Q himself showed up while a man was hooking a small satellite dish to
the side of the warehouse.
"I bring dinner!" he shouted as he came though the front door carrying
bags of many colors. "There's more stuff in the car."
Picard fetched packages, fighting to keep the smile off his face. The
bed was really too much. And he noticed Q hadn't bought a sofa.
He set down the bags on the already laden table and found Q in the
kitchen, opening little white cardboard boxes that read "Five
Happiness" and producing chopsticks.
"You wouldn't believe what I had to shell out to get all this
delivered today, Mon Capitaine. The Direct TV guy I'm having to pay
on the sly."
"You're not really one for waiting, are you, Q?" Picard took up a
carton of broccoli beef and ate a mouthful as Q produced a bottle of
red wine and opened it, pouring it into the wine glasses he'd rinsed
off in the sink.
"I can wait for something important," Q said absently. "But I don't
believe in enduring unnecessary hardship."
"I hope in that mess you bought sheets for the bed."
"Of course I did. And a down comforter that's in the trunk. After I
get some food I'll run a load of sheets and then I can make it up."
Q's eyes sparkled with mischief and Picard politically ignored him,
smiling quietly inside as he took a sip of the wine.
"What?" he couldn't help saying, then grabbed the bottle to see his
own brand. "Wherever did you find it?"
Q looked quite pleased with himself. "There's a gourmet supermarket
next to the Pier 1. I got all the bottles of it they had."
"In the trunk?"
"Hm-hm." Q took up a crab ragoon as the dish installer appeared to
get their signature. Q handed him some cash as well, saw him out, and
then took his food and drink into the dining room to open packages.
Picard followed, and took out the new paper and pens, making up a list
of supplies they would need while Q disappeared into the back. Soon,
he heard a humming thumping noise he assumed was the washing machine.
By the time his list was done and he'd finished mapping out in his
mind where they would put things in the warehouse, it was quite late
and Q was nowhere to be seen. Jean-Luc headed upstairs, cleaned up
in the kitchen, took the garbage out to the curb, and then marched
with some determination towards the bedroom.
"Q..." he began, opening the door, then stood there, his hand on the
knob.
Caribbean blue, with small, white, almost sparkly dots that looked for
all the world like a deep night sky: all across the canopy, down
through the comforter, accented with blue and silver pillows. Q had
gotten dark blue curtains for the window, and now they framed the
stretch of river outside, itself lined brokenly with white lights.
The ceiling light was on, diffusing through the canopy, and everything
that wasn't sparkling seemed to glow.
He realized Q was behind him, and wanted to say something appropriate.
This felt like a gift he wasn't certain how to accept.
"In the Continuum," Q said softly, "we don't sleep, but we do rest,
and it can be like this, sort of...the stars, I mean...I thought,
we'll be needing someplace safe to go, someplace there aren't people
you hate yourself for not helping, someplace just..."
"It's perfect," Jean-Luc murmured, feeling how strangely tight his
hand was on the doorknob. There was some tension in his chest too.
Somehow, he couldn't stop thinking about how he would spend his time
in this bed with Q's arms around him. But perhaps it was just the
thought of being warm. It had grown quite cold in the warehouse since
the sun went down. Tomorrow they'd have to figure out the heating
system.
"It's perfect, Q," he repeated, commending his companion as he turned
with an approving smile. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to take a
shower and test it out."
Q smiled, a little distantly, and stepped back. "I'm already
clean...oh, and I took the far bathroom."
"The larger one?"
Q shrugged innocently.
Picard moved into his bathroom and found his pajamas already hanging
on the door's hook. He shed what he'd left on of his "scientist's"
clothes and found the space heater. He took his time washing the day
off, then came out, closed the bedroom door behind him, and climbed
the stairs into bed. Q was already making his little snoring sounds
Picard found privately hilarious; the bed was outrageously comfortable
and smelled faintly of soap. He was quickly asleep.
When he woke up, there was something different about Q's embrace. It
was something he'd never felt before, and it took him a few groggy
moments to work out what was going on.
Q was hard, and pressing into his buttock.
Everything else was the same. Q's arms around him had him securely
pressed against him, and again Q's face was tucked into his neck. But
then...
*Well, men do have these in their sleep, and Q's a man now, as far as
nature is concerned. It's doubtlessly happened before and I just
didn't wake up. I've basically agreed to do this every night too.
How the hell did I get in this situation, anyway? And I thought that
Robin Hood thing was bad. Well, if Vash were here she'd have a laugh,
at least. I shudder to think what Beverly would say...or...how about
Will?*
Picard had to use everything he had not to laugh. He tried to think
of other things, but Q shifted slightly, rubbing himself gently
against his flank, and that was a little hard to ignore.
*Did he and Vash have sex?* he asked himself as a desperate
distraction. *I should think Q's probably had just about every sort
of sex there is, and then some. Does it really give him pleasure
anymore? Q said making that money was fun, and he enjoyed making up
this bed as a surprise...rather like when he went off to make his
Sherwood Forest preparations. I should do something, make some sort
of surprise for him, but what the hell would he possibly like?* A
small boat passed down the river, its lights glimmering on the water,
and suddenly Jean-Luc again felt as though he were on the holodeck.
It was supremely peaceful here, right this moment, despite the flesh
pressing against his backside. The comforter was soft in his arms,
and he felt cradled without, somehow, feeling coddled. When Beverly
tried to comfort him it always felt as though he were being treated as
a child, or an invalid, but now this...this was easing his worries
away without diminishing him, and he felt deeply grateful to Q for
this.
Well, it was the wrong time for deep thoughts, he told himself,
closing his eyes with determination and *not* thinking about Q's
involuntary erection. He would find *something* fun to surprise Q
with, and do it.
The next four days flowed smoothly together. They researched the area
through Q's computer (now equipped with a direct Internet line and
partnered by Picard's identical unit), paper, and phone consultation,
and bought all the equipment and tools they could to begin the
construction of the transmitter. They both agreed the power source
would be the most dangerous part, and should be saved for last. They
weren't going to be able to build the source themselves, nor did they
know exactly how much power was going to be needed until they saw how
efficient they could make the transmitter. Doubtlessly, the source
was going to have to be nuclear, which posed problems neither of them
wanted to discuss at this stage.
The warehouse was quickly full, and between them they parceled out the
construction duties.
They had a bit more trouble figuring out how to handle the chores
attendant on living outside a hotel. Eventually, the kitchen became
Picard's domain, and Q did most of the other things. They could, of
course, hire a maid, but they didn't want anyone else having access to
the warehouse. It all worked itself out in the end, especially since
both of them were making overt efforts to accommodate the other.
And each night, it was exactly the same. They'd shower and put on
their sleepwear, calmly get into bed, say goodnight, go to sleep, and
then at some point in the night Picard would awaken to find Q wrapped
around him, sometimes hard, sometimes not. He resigned himself to it,
and even eventually could admit that sleeping together was comforting
to both of them, but it was never mentioned, and in the daytime Picard
carefully didn't think of it.
At the end of the fifth day, Picard found himself looking closely at
Q. His companion was hunched over the counter they'd set up in the
back of the warehouse, under two bright lights, trying to get enough
magnification from the large, lit circle of glass to see his way into
connecting the computer chip at the end of his tweezers to the
interface they'd jury-rigged from three mother boards. He dropped the
chip, again, and cursed in a language Jean-Luc didn't recognize. It
was a pretty impressive curse, regardless.
"Q, let's get out of here."
Dark brown eyes met his in frank surprise, and Picard felt
inordinately pleased with himself.
"I thought we were trying to do just that," Q said carefully.
"You know what I mean. No one could blame us for having a drink and
listening to some music. We've earned it, and we'll be all the better
for it in the morning."
"Well, that depends on how much we drink." Q stood, carefully
arranged his tools, and stepped away from his work bench. Picard set
down the schematics he was fine-tuning, and together they moved
upstairs to change into dark-colored clothes.
They started with the House of Blues, and spent a little time in
Margaritaville because the music couldn't be resisted, but they
settled down across the street to listen to Walter Wolfman Washington,
drinking beer and saying little, lost in their own thoughts, supported
by the companionship they'd worked so hard to achieve.
While the band was on break, Picard slid easily off his rather unkempt
barstool and strode back to the men's room, smiling very privately as
the odor around the urinals reminded him of a bar at which he'd spent
some time while still a cadet, trying not to snicker as Marta
pretended --
"Got a light?"
Jean-Luc finished up and buttoned his fly before turning around to the
owner of that overtly suggestive voice. A strikingly attractive man
with thick black hair, blue eyes and a bomber jacket rather like his
own was looking him over.
*Do I have some sort of sign on my forehead?*
"No," he said shortly, but apart from pushing the man out of his way,
his further options were limited. "Excuse me."
"Are you about to do something that needs excusing?" The man laughed
slightly, and Jean-Luc suppressed the urge to punch him in the nose.
He was reminded of men and women he'd met before who were too used to
getting everything with a charming smile. He was somehow also
reminded of a Romulan.
"I only meant I want to pass."
"Why pass up something when you don't know how good it is?"
"A lack of interest?" Picard parried mildly, using the man's moment of
confusion now to slip past. The band's music blasted through him, and
he felt a disconcerting level of relief. Why were these offers so
infuriating? He'd avoided passes before.
*Ah, but the situations were different, weren't they, Jean-Luc? You
didn't have to worry about not making waves there, and you
weren't...somehow, you weren't feeling this exposed before. What is
it? Is it just that I'm so far from home?*
He settled beside Q, nodding as the music rattled his teeth, and then
watched his companion's eyes fix on a point over his shoulder.
Feeling dread, Picard turned to see that the black-haired man had
followed him, and was now looking at Q with some disdain. His dark
blue eyes moved then to Picard, and filled with overt disbelief.
"Oh, sweetheart. You can do so much better," the man crooned over the
music.
Q stiffened, and it seemed to Jean-Luc that he could feel the energy
coming off that tall body beside him. But he kept his expression
almost neutral, his body relaxed, and let just a hint of incredulity
show. Those blue eyes narrowed and turned to Q with open scorn. The
pretty mouth opened, and Picard found himself saying rather loudly,
"Q, do you remember that man we met last year in Mobile?"
Q leaned forward, looming behind him as he'd done so often before, and
said as quietly as he could while still being heard over *Bourbon
Street Bump,* "Of course I do."
Strange, Picard couldn't help thinking, how very intimate this pose of
Q's leaning over his shoulder became in the right circumstances.
"He couldn't understand what 'a couple' meant, either," Picard
remarked aloud, making his tone a little sweet now. He tilted his
head back just slightly, and let his ear brush Q's cheek, just a bit.
Suddenly, the man dropped his disdainful pose, and smiled with
dazzling friendliness. Again, Picard thought of Romulans. "Couples
sometimes invite friends over, and I could certainly make you
happy..." He was looking at Q, then turned back to Picard, "...to
make you happy."
The music stopped, and one of the band signaled the others before
fixing a string on his guitar. In the near-quiet, Picard murmured, "I
assure you, we have no need of company this evening."
The man was about to say something else, but then he was looking at Q,
who was looking, Picard could vaguely tell, at Jean-Luc. Whatever the
man saw on Q's face, it was enough to make him shrug in an empty no-
hurt-feelings gesture and saunter away. Picard turned quickly to see
for himself, but Q was only grinning at him suggestively.
"Wanna dance?"
"Really, Q. I think you enjoyed that!"
"Oh, but you were being so gallant!"
The music started up again, and Picard grabbed his beer, drained it,
and asked Q if he wanted to go.
"Only if you mean to another bar. I'm not letting someone else ruin
what's been our best time here."
Picard was startled into forgetting his anger. Q was right. If he
weren't careful, he was going to start pouting.
"It's just so...unsettling. It's bothering me like it never has
before."
"It's never been so dangerous before," Q noted simply.
Jean-Luc blinked. "That sounds right, but I'm not sure what you
mean."
Q looked over at the band. "Let's go someplace quieter."
Picard nodded, and they made their way outside the bar. Though it was
almost one in the morning, the streets were quite crowded still, and
they found themselves heading for the river. There was a well-lit
stretch of the red brick "moonwalk" which still had a few people
sitting about or strolling. They wound up leaning against the metal
bars at the river's edge, their ears ringing. A tugboat went past,
and Picard saw a rat moving among the rocks at the water line.
"I keep thinking I'm in the holodeck, and then realizing...I don't
know what's wrong with me. I've been in situations like this before
without losing my focus like this."
"Have you really, Jean-Luc? Or isn't this really all much closer to a
Dixon Hill adventure than saving the Earth from the Borg?"
"But we're not safe. You just pointed out the danger we face."
"But it's such an odd sort of danger, isn't it? You're used to facing
down enemies in battle, not worrying about them coming on to you in
the men's room. You don't know the rules. You don't even want to play
the game. And you feel guilty because you're enjoying yourself."
Picard blinked at him.
"There's no need to feel guilty, Jean-Luc. No one will be hurt by our
absence. I give you my personal guarantee."
Picard almost made a remark about the last time Q had said that...but
he was too tired. Q seemed grateful for the moment of silence, and
then nodded to himself. "Besides, I think I know something that might
help. You want to go home now?"
"It is late," Picard agreed wearily.
They walked along the river as far as the aquarium, then turned
towards the parking lot.
"So save the bones...for Henry Jones...'cause Henry doesn't eat no
meat."
They looked at each other, then searched for the low voice of the
singer. They found him under a light, strumming a guitar with
slightly gnarled fingers. The man's skin shone almost blue-black in
the glare, and when they neared him they saw he was missing several
teeth. His clothes were torn and dirty. His voice was golden, husky
and sad.
"So save the bones...for Henry Jones...'cause Henry doesn't
eat...no...meat."
Q and Picard applauded and the man bowed slightly from his waist.
"You got a request?" the man asked, his speech somewhat garbled.
Q drew a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket, folded over. The
man's eyes showed clearly that he recognized the denomination anyway,
and he smiled to reveal his ravaged gums.
"Something happy," Q said dryly, dropping the bill in the man's guitar
case.
"You can't buy happy blues," the man groused.
"Armstrong, then."
That same red-gummed smile, and then a few chords Picard knew were in
perfect tune.
"I see trees of green," the man sang, "red roses too. I see them
bloom...for me and you. And I think to myself, what a wonderful
world..."
Some tourists had noticed them, and moved somewhat drunkenly towards
the circle of white light. They were quiet, though, and listened with
respect.
"I see skies of blue, and clouds of white. Bright blessed day, the
dark sacred night. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world..."
It was happening again, Picard thought. As it had a few nights ago in
Q's starry blue bed. The entity was right. He *was* enjoying
himself; this moment seemed an alignment of some sort of accidental
perfection, and he was holding his breath in hope it would last to the
end of the song.
"The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky, are also on the
faces of people going by. I see friends shaking hands, saying, 'How
do you do?' They're really saying...I love you..."
One of the tourists, a man in a yellow shirt, leaned down and slipped
a dollar bill in the guitar case.
"I hear babies cry. I watch them grow. They'll learn much more than
I'll ever know. And think to myself, what a wonderful world. And I
think to myself...what a wonderful...wonderful world."
The applause went on for a while, and the man bowed again, casually
scooping up some of the dollars in his case, including Q's. Picard
wanted to add his own money, but didn't want to step on what had
somehow become Q's gift. He settled for a smile instead, and got one
in return, missing teeth and all.
They walked to the car slowly, stretching out the moment now,
contentedly.
"This was nice," Picard made himself say in the car, watching Q drive.
"Stop it, you're killing me," Q murmured back, and Jean-Luc chuckled.
They let the silence take them back to the warehouse, then both kept
their showers short and crawled into bed with obvious relish.
"It's not so bad, sleeping," Q noted as he arranged the covers. "Once
you get used to it."
Picard grunted, half-asleep already. If Q snuggled up with him that
night, he didn't wake up to notice.
END OF PART FOUR
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 5/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:23:40 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 5/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:25:33 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Q left early the next day to shop and Jean-Luc found that getting out
the night before had helped clear his mind. In fact, he could see a
way to use the processor chip more along the lines of its original
function, which would help with efficiency.
Q returned with more micro chips, a lunch of sushi and misu soup and a
little box which he handed to Jean-Luc over the dining table. The
lack of flourish did nothing to prepare Picard for what lay nestled
inside.
"Q..."
"Yes?" Q sipped his soup.
"Q, this looks like a wedding ring."
"I know. I got myself one too." Q pulled it out of a pocket and
slipped it on. "Lots of gay men wore them at this time to announce
that they were taken and keep the gals away. It also signaled other
gay men that the guy was probably in a relationship."
Picard fought down the need to say that he wasn't a homosexual. Q was
right. He was, for all practical purposes, posing as one.
With a small sigh, he slipped the ring on his left hand and ate some
sushi, then outlined his new design schematic to Q.
"We've really got the thing designed now," Q noted, "about as well as
we can with the tools we have. I think it should take about three
weeks to get it all together."
"Then we work on the power source," Picard agreed.
Q nodded. They were designing the transmitter to be portable,
durable, and almost indistinguishable from high-powered radio
equipment of the period. It was now, with its guts exposed, that the
historically inappropriate device was most vulnerable.
They spent the afternoon in quiet assembly, then quit to watch the
news on television. Picard almost fell asleep in his armchair, then
willingly followed as Q led the way down the short hall. In the
shower, he scraped his scalp unpleasantly with the gold ring, and
thought about taking it off until he had need of it. But it made more
sense to get used to the thing. It was heavy on his hand, somehow,
though he wasn't surprised that Q had gotten one that fit perfectly.
Q showered even more quickly than Picard and was waiting impatiently
under the covers for the only thing that had kept him from going
completely out of his mind over the past couple of weeks. He'd been
more than a little horrified the first time he woke up to find his
body wrapped around Jean-Luc's, and he had tried very hard to make
himself let go. But that classically proportioned body that glowed
with the man's energy and intelligence had felt as good in his arms as
he'd always imagined it would, and he couldn't release the sensation,
couldn't roll over and ignore what he was getting away with touching.
Instead, he'd very slowly maneuvered himself until they were connected
even more completely, until Jean-Luc Picard was pressed up against his
entire length: his chest, his stomach, his pelvis, his thighs, his
calves, even the tops of his feet.
He'd thought that Picard would attack him in the morning, savage him
for having touched him without permission, but instead he'd woken up
first himself, and quietly slipped out of bed, and evidently Jean-Luc
had been none the wiser.
Q was sure now, sometime in the past several days, that the captain
must have awoken to find himself being cuddled, but Jean-Luc had said
nothing, and Q wasn't about to question his good fortune. He supposed
Picard felt he owed it to Q, and, frankly, Q agreed. Despite all the
practice he'd put in at being limited to Human sensations, having to
deal with Human pains and inconveniences, he had still pleasantly
surprised himself with his performance in this universe.
*Of course, this wasn't quite how I planned to show off my abilities.
Being *this* Human hardly does me any good at all, does it? Still,
we're here, and when we get home together he'll trust me even more,
and that's something. One day, Mon Capitaine...* Q smiled in the
dark.
Picard came in a little later, and quietly slipped into the bed Q had
so carefully and with such embarrassingly intense joy made for him.
He felt the man settle, mocking himself for the pleasure of feeling
that voluntary, if extremely light, touch when the man placed himself
right next to Q. Long minutes passed, until Jean-Luc's breathing was
slow and regular and deep.
Still Q waited, until he couldn't stand it anymore, and then, very
carefully, he placed his arm across the man's chest -- he would do no
more, he told himself sternly, the way he always did, every night. In
seconds, he had joined Jean-Luc in sleep.
With one exception, the following two weeks passed by just as well as
Picard could have hoped. He and Q got into the habit of reading the
papers over breakfast, then would work in the warehouse, assembling
the transmitter, until lunch, when they would go for a walk. Though
Picard ran most mornings, he still enjoyed the stroll, and after a few
days Q announced that exercise was much more pleasurable than he'd
thought it would be. To Picard's surprise, Q drove off one afternoon
to return with full running gear, and began to jog in the mornings as
well, though he did not try to keep up with Jean-Luc.
Except for Q's occasional shopping sprees, they would work through the
afternoons until dinner, at which point they would usually eat out.
The city was hardly without adequate restaurants, and they both began
to think of it as their day's reward for hard work. They would come
home from dinner and either work some more, or watch the news on
television while reading, then go to bed.
The warehouse began to take on true signs of their domesticity. Piles
of books filled up the corners, until Q went out and made bookcases
appear. Their auto-drip coffee maker hummed to itself in the
mornings, and Q seemed to get amusement from seeing to it that there
was always a pot of Earl Grey available during the afternoon and
evenings, the little Twinnings tea bag wrappers lying on the counter
until Picard gathered them up for the trash.
Construction was on schedule, he and Q were getting along...everything
was going better than Picard would ever have thought...except for that
one thing.
Picard had even begun to think of it that way, as The Thing.
It had happened two nights after their bar-hopping excursion. Picard
had been dreaming of something erotic, and awoke somewhat aroused. Q,
of course, had been holding him, though he was not hard, and Picard
had almost been able to chuckle about it and go back to sleep. But
then Q had shifted slightly, almost caressing him as his arms changed
position, and the pressure and ache between the man's legs had
increased with a pulse.
The sheer horror of the reality which confronted Picard that early
morning had been so great he had not slept another moment, remaining
virtually motionless until the dawn, breathing with conscious and
deceptive smoothness, his erection lost as though it had never been
and never would be again.
After the blank white shock had worn off, after he'd made it past the
almost overwhelming urge to ignore this -- as, he realized, he had
done so well in the past -- Picard tried to understand how it could
have happened that he had become attracted to Q.
He wanted to believe it was an outcome of their situation. They were
alone here, held together by so much, intimate in a way he had been
with very few people. He was lonely. He was concerned about his
crew. He was sexually frustrated. He was absolutely out of his mind.
The day after the first time The Thing made itself known, Picard was
almost able to make himself believe it wasn't true. In the daylight,
Q looked the same as always, perhaps even a little old, as he appeared
in his running clothes and set off down the street, waving goodbye.
While Jean-Luc jogged along the river, at somewhat faster than his
usual pace, he thought of the dangerous callousness Q had often shown,
the disregard of other people, the total lack of any sense of
propriety or consideration. He reminded himself that while he was
posing as a homosexual, he was quite heterosexual, and always had
been. He thought of what it would be like to show vulnerability to Q,
and then, having shown it, to return to their proper universe.
He made himself see Q popping onto his bridge with a leer and letting
everyone know he'd gotten into Picard's pants as a lark, perhaps
passing intimate pictures around to see what they would do to Data's
emotion chip. He forced himself to imagine Riker and Beverly and all
the rest of them knowing that he'd been intimate with Q, focusing on
every detail of the censure he'd receive.
And even more damning than all this, he reminded himself of what Q
actually *was.* A being who could not remember the beginnings of his
existence. A being who had watched countless mortals die, who had
claimed that Picard's kind were "always suffering and dying." What
could sex mean to Q? Did he even understand the concept of wanting
something? Whatever Q wanted, he had, the second he wanted it.
Picard ran much father and harder than usual, and, as far as he could
tell, all trace of any sexual attitude towards the entity completely
disappeared before he made it back to the warehouse.
*It was the closeness of being in bed together. Good Lord, he's been
pressed up against me every night, and how long has it been since I've
had someone doing that? Have I ever had anyone doing that? I can't
hold myself in contempt for one moment of weakness.*
Satisfied, if unsettled, Picard walked inside the fence to find Q
stretching out in the driveway. When Jean-Luc joined him, Q turned
with a smile and made a comment about the last gasp of New Orleans
heat and the need for a city-wide cleaning service. He was shiny with
sweat, and panting from his run, and as he spoke, his arms reached
overhead while his long body seemed surprised with the simple motion
attendant on being alive.
And Jean-Luc realized his problem was much, more worse than he had
thought. He wasn't simply attracted to Q. Attraction didn't feel
like this, didn't hurt this much, didn't destroy his ability to
breathe, didn't make him ache, didn't make him feel hopeless and
desperate with the knowledge that there was no way in any universe
that Q could possibly return in any manner the excruciatingly intense
emotion he felt.
*When did it happen? How did it happen?* he asked himself. *How do I
make it un-happen?*
"That's an interesting expression, Jean-Luc. Did you pull a groin
muscle?"
Picard coughed and bent over in a stretch, missing the possessive
spark in Q's eyes as they traveled over his body. They didn't make
eye-contact again before Picard went inside for his shower.
The morning went by seemingly as routine, with Picard disassembling
Q's communicator for those parts which could not be jury-rigged with
circuit boards and microchips. It was slow, delicate work, greatly
complicated by the fact that Jean-Luc found it almost impossible to
concentrate. Q was only a few feet from him, and he kept shifting his
weight, moving around, making little noises which drew Picard's eyes
to his tall body, and his mind to what he wanted to do to that body.
Picard amazed himself with the direction and detail of his own
thoughts. It were as if, having been forced into silence for so many
years, his imagination were now on over-drive. He found himself
envisioning Q stretched out over their blue bed, over the workbench in
front of him, over a chair, up against a wall, on the floor...he
thought of Q's eyes half-closed in pleasure, of listening to that
voice -- suggestive and insinuating even at the best of times --
saying things to him, asking him to kiss him, to caress him, to stroke
his nipples or his penis.
Oh, damn, he almost dropped the processor. He *had* to concentrate,
to focus, but there was Q now, sighing over something he was working
on -- the attenuator -- and in his mind's private studio Picard made
the sound one of passion. He thought of the heat of Q's body, so
familiar to him now, pressed up not to his back, but to his front. He
thought of those long legs -- getting even more defined with the
running Q had been doing -- wrapped around his back or bent beneath
him. The sheer eroticism of it all, of thinking not simply of the
unfamiliar sex between two men, but of sex with *Q,* broke through
every resolve, over and over, until finally he all but slammed his
work down.
Q looked up at him in surprise.
"I'm hungry," Jean-Luc told him tightly. "You want a sandwich?"
"It's still early for me. I'll get something later."
Picard jerked a nod and strode into the kitchen. Q's shopping had
filled it with useful and aesthetically engaging gadgets, without
cluttering the place up. The captain had spent just about as much
time in the room quietly looking around and feeling strangely at home
as he had washing up or making a meal. Now everything reminded him of
Q, and he kept his eyes strictly on his hands as he grabbed bread and
some wrapped steak, cheese and deli horseradish sauce from the
refrigerator. He toasted the bread, and cut himself three thin slices
of meet, staring at his wedding ring while thinking about Q kneeling
down in this kitchen, slowly reaching for him, slowly opening up his
mouth and taking him inside --
"Damn!" He had sliced wickedly through his thumb. He help it up and
watched the blood drip out with enthusiasm. It was a deep cut, and as
he stared at it he realized it would take some time to heal.
"What did you do?" Q demanded from the doorway, and Picard braced
himself with a smile as he turned on the cold water and stuck his
thumb into the flow.
"Cut myself, obviously."
Q stepped up close and Jean-Luc kept himself from leaning away only by
staring at the lemon squeezer drying in the wooden rack. He could
smell Q now, a little salt and a little soap, and of course he could
feel his heat.
"That looks bad." Q scowled. "You know Beverly's not here to heal
it."
"Obviously."
"Well, you need to be more careful!"
Picard was deadly calm. "I didn't cut myself on purpose."
Q clamped his lips over his retort and then turned to walk out. "I'll
buy some antiseptic and bandages."
"It's only a cut on my thumb!"
Q looked over his shoulder, and it occurred to Picard that he looked
furious. "It's bleeding badly. Do you *want* it to get infected?"
"Yes! I do!"
Q snorted and stomped out, and Picard grabbed a paper towel from its
chrome spool and wrapped it around his thumb, pressing hard and
breathing harder.
How could he do this? How could he live like this?
Would Q get him naked, touch him until he was moaning, and then laugh
at him?
The car wasn't working right. He'd no more than tapped on the brakes
and the ridiculous Stone-Age machine was skidding to a stop at the
light. The light was broken as well, and took three times as long as
it should to change back to green. It wasn't far too Walgreen's
Drugs, but he cursed each block, and when he got into the parking lot
he almost ran over the girl pushing the Winn-Dixie shopping carts into
a line because the child didn't look where she was going.
It was no better in the store. People were standing around like
Bolian cattle and the absurd decorations reminded him that Halloween
(actually one of Humanity's most interesting holidays, but not right
now) was approaching. He grabbed a basket and sped to the first-aid
aisle, collecting wrapping bandages, antiseptic, Band-Aids, burn
cream, aspirin, ibuprofen, Vaseline, cough drops, a thermometer, an
ice pack, a heating pad, Preparation H, sleeping pills, hydrogen
peroxide, cotton balls, iodine, triple-antibiotic ointment, rubbing
alcohol, Vicks Vapo rub, Ambusol, gauze, tape, scissors, Visine,
ipecac syrup, calamine lotion, baby powder, Q-tips, Benadryl, cough
syrups -- one to soothe, one an expectorant -- anti-histamine/sinus
medication, anti-fungal cream, Cortisone, and Ben-Gay.
Q almost lost it, holding the last small packet of cream in his fist,
standing in the glare of the fluorescent lights, unable to keep from
thinking about what it would be like to rub the cream over Jean-Luc's
aching shoulders. How could he have been so stupid? They could never
take Picard to the hospital here, not with his mechanical heart. He
should have been watching over Jean-Luc more carefully. What if he'd
cut the thumb off? What if he had a problem bandages couldn't fix?
Well, he could hack into the pharmacy's computer easily enough and get
them prescriptions for some real drugs. And he certainly knew enough
to treat Picard for several things. He had studied Humanity's anatomy
very thoroughly, after all, though his motives had been quite
different at the time.
*Well,* Q couldn't help thinking, even though he recognized the
defensiveness of his humor, *some people have called it "playing
doctor.*"
The excuse for a joke steadied him. Picard wasn't going to drop down
dead, and Q really could treat him for a number of things. They'd
both just have to be careful.
Q thought then that he'd better take good care of himself, as, if
something happened to him, Picard would be alone, with no one to watch
over him, and suddenly the entity was fighting tears. He'd never been
so scared as he was watching the blood pour from Picard's thumb and
having no powers to stop it. How did he get so useless?
Grabbing up some large patch Band-Aids on the way, he walked quickly
to the counter and paid for his mini-clinic, then took the bags to the
car and drove quickly, but carefully, home. Picard was still in the
kitchen, perched on the stool, his right hand wrapped around a paper
towel around his thumb.
"Good Lord, Q. Did you buy out the store?"
"We have to take care of ourselves, Jean-Luc. We can't afford to get
truly ill here."
Picard listened to the censure in Q's voice, uncertain whom it was
for. He tried saying gently, "Small accidents are bound to happen,
but if we're careful we should be all right. I had my last physical
not long ago."
Q didn't answer, busying himself with unwrapping Picard's thumb and
checking to see that the wound was clean and not bleeding any longer
before he washed his hands and then applied the antiseptic, letting it
dry before he wrapped it up snugly in two Band-Aids. Jean-Luc kept
his eyes on the floor, and Q concentrated on keeping his breathing
regular. Both of them felt the other's body heat.
"You have quite the medicinal air about you," Picard murmured at one
point to soothe his way through the involuntary movement he'd made
when Q bumped his side. "I take it you studied Human physiology."
"What there is of it." Then Q was throwing wrappers away and
gathering up the bags to take them to Picard's bathroom.
"Then if we get into trouble, between the two of us I'm sure we'll be
able to treat ourselves."
Q was going to snap at Picard for his complacency, then realized what
he was really saying. The man *trusted* him to know what to do, to be
able to handle this danger. He realized he'd better not look Jean-Luc
in the eye for at least an hour.
"We'll see," he managed, making it sound as cynical as he could, and
got out of there.
The afternoon went slowly for Picard. With his thumb bandaged, he
couldn't do any delicate work, and the work he did on the transmitter
casing involved a lot of mental cursing as his hands couldn't get a
proper grip on the tools. Moreover, he could feel Q watching him, and
he kept thinking of the entity's concern over his injury. Several
times, he had to think of disgusting things to keep from betraying
himself with an erection, particularly when Q suddenly appeared at his
elbow and took his hand to inspect his thumb. He could feel himself
trembling slightly, and when Q suggested that they knock off early and
watch some TV, he complied so willingly he thought for a second he'd
completely given himself away.
The evening went slowly for Q, and he had thought the afternoon was
bad. Q could tell Picard didn't like the way he kept an eye on him,
and when he'd touched his hand without permission, the man had all but
jerked away from him. He'd hoped that the way they were pressed up in
bed each night -- *surely* by now Picard knew about that -- would make
the man more comfortable with being touched. Instead, he'd felt him
almost shuddering with distaste. It angered him. He deserved better.
*For what? For having set him up to become Locutus? Or perhaps you
think he looks back fondly to those six hours you held him in the
shuttlecraft?*
*The Enterprise will continue on with Riker as captain.*
He'd actually made Picard say those words, made him think he might
hold him for so long he'd lose his command. Jean-Luc had thought then
that he was a monster, and he'd given the man cause to think it. It
didn't matter what he'd done since then. It would never matter.
"Don't believe him, Mom. He's never trusted me," Scully was saying,
holding a gun on her partner while the hypnotic suggestions she'd
gotten through the television kept her in a state of paranoia. There
was more chance the rerun was suddenly going to go berserk and have
Mulder and Scully's mother do the horizontal bop than there was Picard
would ever really let him in.
And yet, Q was proudly aware that he didn't regret what he'd done, not
for a second. In fact, following Picard into an unknown universe
through a "wormhole" created by his double had been the best thing
he'd ever done in five billion years of a selfish existence.
His double. Q found himself shaking his head slightly and stopped it
before Picard noticed...not that he would, since the captain was
staring at the television as though it were a Bajoran orb. To think
that he'd actually felt sorry for his double as he passed through,
hoping his "own" Jean-Luc was lost somewhere, not wanting to accept
that the one he'd been dealt was the one he got. Q had believed at
the time that at least *he* had been able to accept the Picard of his
universe on his own terms. Unlike the other Q, he would love the one
he got, and work hard on getting that love returned.
But now look at him: stuck in the wrong universe, and evidently one
without a Continuum. Even as a Human he should have been able to
contact the Q here and get them home, so his unanswered calls meant
that there were no Q here. Which also meant that whatever he was in
this universe, he wasn't a Q. He assumed Picard hadn't been born yet.
Perhaps his own double here was long dead.
The Q who'd decided to go breaking into everyone's universe on his own
little quest believed that in every universe there was a Q and a
Picard who got together, as friends or lovers, but Q doubted it. Some
things were a little fantastic even from a Q's perspective. Perhaps
in this little universe, on this planet that looked quite likely to
blow itself up soon, there wasn't even a Picard or a Q at all.
Perhaps that's why they'd been drawn here when they were in the
wormhole, to fill the vacuum.
Picard moved slightly, and Q felt himself tense up. Were they finally
going to go to bed? Since he'd seen the man's wound he'd wanted to
wrap him up in his arms. He needed that heat against his belly that
told him Picard was alive and safe.
But the man padded into the kitchen in stockinged feet, and Q was left
looking at the shoes Picard had slipped off. He was always doing
that, always slipping off his shoes and leaving them in odd places. Q
had picked them up and stored them in Jean-Luc's closet at first, but
now just left them where they were. He didn't mind tripping over them
every now and then. Hell, he wouldn't mind it if Picard left his
briefs hanging from the light fixtures.
*I'm really quite besotted,* Q thought with resignation. *Have been
for years. Will be forever. Do you even care that you completely
changed my life, Mon Capitaine?* Well, Q cared. He had to admit, he
liked himself better this way, and he was getting on much better with
his fellow Q now -- the civil war notwithstanding -- and he was quite
prepared to wait however long it took to have Jean-Luc accept his
feelings. He wasn't going to beg, but he wasn't ever going to let
Picard die, and he'd promised himself sometime ago that one of these
millennia, at the very least, he was going to make the man orgasm
with simple mental stimulation, and watch that face watch him while
he did it.
A few minutes passed and Picard came back in, holding a glass of
something that smelled like brandy.
"I was pouring one for myself and thought you might like some."
"Yes, thank you, Jean-Luc," Q murmured, taking the snifter with care
so that their fingers brushed slightly. A rush went through him, a
precursor to the heat of the brandy down his throat, and he reminded
himself about his own vow not to beg.
He'd bought the brandy himself, and without having picked out the
label while he still had his powers, so he was pleased that Picard
liked the taste of it. It was earthy without being musty, strong
without losing its overtaste, and when Jean-Luc returned with his own
glass, they sat through the news together.
"In science news," the well-coifed woman on the screen read from her
teleprompter, "another attempt at cold fusion is currently being
funded for a project at UCLA. Protests against government funding of
what some people are calling 'pie in the sky projects' has been
increasing, and the school issued a statement in defense of its
exploration of alternative fuel sources."
"Cold fusion?" Picard asked aloud as the news went to a commercial.
"I remember some experiments with it around this time. They didn't
really go anywhere..."
"Well, they might be doing something new..." Q thought hard,
something he didn't have to do often. "This business of protesting
alternative energy sources comes from the Middle East's oil-backed
money, and basic paranoia. The main argument against it is the risk
of pollution. If you and I had some authentic-looking Greenpeace
credentials, we could probably meet the scientists involved."
To Q's surprise, Jean-Luc yawned even as he was nodding, smothering it
with a hand. His face, now that Q allowed himself to look, was drawn
and pale. "I'll need to read up for the role, but if they're making
anything like progress, even in just having the right sort of
equipment, it might be just what we need."
"Go to bed, Jean-Luc. You're exhausted."
"When I finish my brandy."
Q bit his response back, but the lessening of tension they'd enjoyed
was gone. With determination, Jean-Luc sipped his glass empty, then
rose and disappeared into his bathroom, doubtlessly displeased with
its new drugstore milieu. Q rose and poured the last of his brandy
down his throat, then went into the kitchen for another, which he
dispatched in one go, enjoying the unpleasant burn down to his guts,
before he turned with resignation to his own evening shower.
Picard stood very still, looking around him groggily. Was there
anything at the drugstore Q hadn't bought? He found he was smiling to
himself. This whole time, during this whole business with his thumb,
he'd been more concerned with Q's anxiety than with his own injury.
He was reminded sharply of when Eline, his made-up Resikan wife whom
he'd grown to love so deeply, was so frightened by his first heart
attack, and even in his pain he'd worried more at the thought of
leaving her than at dying. The Thing was even worse than that: those
feelings had been caused by his dream, at least in part. The Thing
was all of his own making.
He thought then with cruel sadness of what Q might think when he did
die, as eventually he must. Q must have watched so many mortals he
cared about die. Why hadn't he thought about that before, when he was
judging Q so harshly for not caring about the eighteen lost members of
his crew? How many millions of billions of beings had Q watched die?
How did the entity manage to care about anyone else at all?
Q cared about him, so much so that he'd followed him into this world,
where Q was without his powers. The thought warmed him even as it
emptied him, leaving nothing but longing. Q had offered to be without
his powers for him before, though Picard had no doubts it was only to
cause mischief. When he'd refused him, they'd met the Borg, which had
led in time to Locutus...
Did Q think he blamed him for Locutus? Did Q not realize Picard knew
their early introduction to the Borg had saved Humanity?
He realized he was holding a small box which Q had left on the
counter, as though he wanted Picard to see it. Inside the box was a
small tube, and written on the side of both the tube and the box was
"Ben-Gay." He couldn't help feeling ridiculous as one of words held a
new meaning for him he could just as well have done without, but as he
realized what the cream was for, he had to fight the urge to clutch it
to his heart. Was Q offering him a rub-down? The box seemed so
*deliberately* placed there. Perhaps Q had a sore muscle of his own.
He wasn't used to running...
Picard groaned and leaned against the cool counter, his ringed hand
clicking into a little puddle of water. He could only see Q lying on
the bed as he rubbed down those long legs.
END OF PART FIVE
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 6/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:25:33 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 6/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:25:44 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
He realized he was hard and almost reached down to touch himself. As
he set the small box and its tube on the counter, however, he saw
himself in the mirror: an old man, pale and tired, with a face of
wrinkles and lines, small eyes smudged with pain. Moreover, he looked
weak and fragile, and he felt stupid as a stump. The thought of his
own needs disgusted him, and his erection wilted as he stripped off
his clothes. He was done being laughable for the day.
Not wanting to go through the trouble of redressing his small wound,
he settled for a thorough sponge-bath. He found his pajamas on their
hook, and smelled soap.
But no, the door opened at last, and Picard held himself very still,
lying on his back with one arm over his head, breathing quietly,
steadily, as the entity approached, stepped up the little wooden
steps, and then got into bed with a minimum of fuss. Long minutes
passed with nothing further, and Jean-Luc hated the fear he felt,
hated himself for feeling that fear, until at last Q very slowly, very
gently, draped an arm across his chest. Picard kept himself from
sighing in relief, and though part of him wanted to get excited, the
rest slid gratefully into sleep.
New Orleans had made its fortune as a port, and was once the back-door
of America. By 1999, the port wasn't much to speak of anymore, and
New Orleans was basically a tourist town. However, the trappings were
still there, and still functioning, if at a minimum. As Tchoupitoulas
provided the first real street next to the river, it was lined along
its riverside by train-tracks, and was frequently treated to the
rumblings and whistle-blowings of freight cars loaded with oil, gas,
and corn, and the like. The noise was considerable, but also
surprisingly easy to get used to. The only time it was really bad was
when some engineer leaned on the whistle as he passed right by the
warehouse.
The whistle was still going when Picard woke up.
Q's erection was pressing into his backside.
His own was pressing into his pajamas.
He held himself perfectly still. Q's face was tucked into his neck
and his warm arms were around him and except for the fact that he was
absolutely terrified, the moment was bliss. Picard could feel his
heart pounding, could feel his erection growing heavier, could tell
that any moment he was going to do something inexcusable, something
that couldn't be explained away. For the first time, he tried to
pull, gingerly, out of Q's unconscious embrace.
Q protested, holding him tighter and grinding his pelvis against his
body. The length of him slipped into the crease of his cheeks, and
Picard couldn't quite stifle his gasp. Oh, he knew for a fact if he
woke Q up and asked him for sex the entity would comply. If the
thought of it were abhorrent, he wouldn't be acting like this in his
sleep. He could get Q to kiss his back and thrust against him and
perhaps hold his hand while he came...
*And then what? What would you do for the rest of the time you're
stranded here with him? Fall ever more in love with him? Do you
think you'd have any sort of a life together back on the Enterprise?
Will Q settle down on the ship and be your wife?*
*If I'd known about it sooner, I would have appeared as a female.*
Picard breathed a soft moan at the words' memory, and that damn ring
around his finger was pinching at him. He couldn't help but wonder if
he should be grateful Q had never made good his threat. What if Q had
appeared as a woman? Would he have resisted him better or worse?
Would they have made love in the shuttlecraft, that first time he'd
felt what would later grow into The Thing? Would he have simply taken
Q up on his offer to spend eternity with him after he'd been shot by
the Lenarians? Would he be able now to turn to Q and make love with
her without worrying about the consequences?
Yes, even now it was good that Q was a man. He had very little idea
how to proceed with a man's body for a sexual partner, and it was
somewhat difficult to believe he wanted something as extreme as anal
penetration.
On the other hand, it was far too easy to imagine Q's long-fingered
hand around his penis, to say nothing of Q's mouth --
Picard moved with determination from the circle of Q's arms, and with
a grunt the entity finally let him go. Picard realized Q had only
remained asleep because of the brandy they'd drunk. Moving with
difficulty around the weight between his legs, he got out of the room
and into his own bathroom, where he did not turn on the light.
Bracing himself against the counter with his left hand, he pushed his
pajama bottoms down with his right and slid his palm along his swollen
length, breathing through another moan.
*This is Q's hand, touching me in the dark. Somehow I've made him
understand this is important to me. He doesn't feel like he's
masturbating an animal as an experiment. He wants to be here. He's
excited too, and realizes...oh...ohhh..yes...*
"Ohhhh," he breathed into the dark, his hand working the precum over
his shaft, around the crown, down to his testicles, and yet there was
still more of it. Years' worth of it. Had he only been attracted to
Vash because she reminded him of Q? Had he kept away from committing
himself to Beverly because he wanted to keep himself free for Q? Had
he ever wanted something in his entire life as much as he wanted
sex...no, not simply sex from Q, not simply Q's hand here instead of
his own, but all that such a replacement would signify? He didn't
just want Q to make love with him, he wanted Q to *love* him. He
wanted them to be in love with each other.
And instead, he was standing in his bathroom in the dark, jerking off
without making too much noise.
*This is Q's hand. He's watching me and he likes what he sees. He's
hard and pressed against me. This is...yes...yes...right there...Q's
hand!*
He came, quietly, the heat rushing up from his thighs and out over his
fingers. There was quite a bit of semen, evidence of the time he'd
spent alone, and, after he recovered, he turned on the harsh light --
avoiding the mirror as much as he could -- to make sure he cleaned it
all up with tissues.
He sponged himself off as well, not wanting there to be a smell, and
then clicked off the light and felt his way through the dark hall back
to the television room. There was no way in any universe he could
spend the rest of this night in bed with Q.
Q slept heavy, and woke up thick-headed. But his body knew Picard
hadn't been in the bed for some time. The sheets and his stomach were
too cold, and his arms were restless with nothing to hold on to.
Jean-Luc proved to be in the kitchen, just finishing up a stack of
pancakes with syrup that Q had smelled in the hallway. He looked to
the stove with frown, saw Picard had set aside the batter for his
breakfast, and moved to set the pan over the burner.
"Brandy makes you hungry the next morning too?" Picard asked softly,
and Q nodded. He was starving, and the batter seemed to take forever
to puff up as he hovered over the stove with a coffee cup in one hand
and a spatula in the other.
"Q," the captain said softly, hesitantly, sending Q's whole body into
Alert Status One. "What would you think about getting a sofa?"
Q turned his pancake over, let it heat through, transferred breakfast
to his plate, sat down across from Picard and looked at him with overt
determination.
"You stop sleeping in my bed and this partnership is over."
Picard's eyes widened slightly. Thirty seconds went by while he
thought of his response and Q chopped a section off of his pancake and
ate it.
"I don't mean to sound heartless," Picard said finally. "But perhaps
if you could explain why it's important to you. I'm tired of not
discussing waking up at night to find us...as we are."
Q swallowed down a thick mouthful of pancake. He wondered if
swallowing while he wanted to choke would give him hic-coughs again.
"The Continuum is created of Q, Jean-Luc, and only Q. Being there is
an intimacy at once reassuring and terrible. Since the War, we've
been trying to keep it on the reassuring side. Sleep requires me to
drop all my shields, my awareness. You know that it terrifies me."
"Having me...close helps you, then?"
"Of course. We may not be friends, Jean-Luc, but we're something to
each other. It helps. Is it really such torture for you?"
Picard was staring at his plate, even as he slowly shook his head.
"No. It's fine. I just needed some air last night."
"The window opens."
Picard looked up then and smiled, as though Q were a stranger at a
party. "All right."
As far as Q was concerned, it was their last conversation of
consequence for two weeks.
They finished up the transmitter, except for the modifications it
would need when they knew their power source. Q got a highly
sensitive burglar system installed (unbeknownst to their landlord),
and arranged for a meeting with the two scientists who just perhaps
were about to make the most important breakthrough in Human history
since opposable thumbs.
That last bit had been much more difficult than Q had anticipated. As
it turned out, the two scientists, Dr. Janet Lancet and Dr. Connie
Steward, were both women, which meant in this primitive era that every
organization in the world wanted a piece of their time. They
supported more institutions and causes than Q suspected they realized,
and though Q had gotten himself and Picard Greenpeace credentials that
made them look like the personal creators of trees, still he'd been
blocked from an actual meeting until he'd made a sizable contribution
towards the cold fusion project and set up a trust fund for Young
Scholars of Fill-in-The-Blank. He'd had to spend a whole day market-
trading to make sure their finances weren't affected. He also got
them plane tickets on the safest airlines of the time -- except for
Quantas -- and then carefully arranged for everything they'd need in
Los Angeles.
Picard commented little on any of this. His routine had altered after
that morning and Q's ultimatum. He worked, somehow, twice as hard,
sparing time only for his rigorous exercise, quick meals, and sleep.
>From the beginning, the nights had been important for Q, but in those
two weeks, they were absolutely essential. Picard's conversation
dwindled down to grunts and monosyllables. He never smiled, never
joked, never even seemed to notice Q's acerbic comments or ironic
commentary. Many times Q felt he was there alone, and seemed to be
talking primarily to himself. The balance which he had managed to
maintain before was gone, and the strange sort of enjoyment he'd
derived from working with Picard on such a simple task as building an
inter-universal transmitter with what Spock -- in a similar situation
Q had learned about when he was researching Enterprise captains --
would have called "stone knives and bearskins" -- was lost to a
desperate determination. Annoying tasks became onerous, hours dragged
even when Jean-Luc was standing right next to him, and he considered
several times telling the man that he did not have to sleep with him
anymore, on the chance that it might improve Jean-Luc's mood.
But those hours in bed could not be sacrificed. In fact, sleeping had
actually become better in some ways since that morning, since Q no
longer had to make any pretenses about what he was doing. Now, when
Picard came to bed, Q reached for him, neither of them saying a word
as Jean-Luc allowed Q to settle him again his belly, wrap him in his
arms, and tuck his face into his neck. True, Picard held himself
somewhat stiffly at first and seemed to take longer to get to sleep,
but once he was breathing steadily, Picard's body would almost seem to
press back against him, and at times he would move with Q to
accommodate a change in position, all fluid movement and warmth, power
carefully contained with rest.
Picard didn't even say anything about the few times now Q had awoken
to find himself with an erection, pressing himself against a hip or
flank in his sleep. He could only assume Jean-Luc knew, which finally
put to rest the question of whether the captain were aware of Q's
sexual interest in him. It was a strange sort of victory to have it
out in the open like this without witnessing a Picard-style hysterical
reaction. In his own very quiet way, Jean-Luc seemed to be accepting
that Q lusted after him, and though it was obvious Picard did not
return the attraction...well, it was still something.
The morning of their flight to the Coast, Q woke up in bed alone, only
a residual warmth between the sheets and Picard's unmistakable, spicy
smell left to tell him he hadn't spent the night that way. Though
their flight wasn't until the late afternoon, they'd already packed,
Jean-Luc's face set in grim lines as he put his suit into his garment
bag, not saying a word as Q quietly fussed with toiletries and a
traveling first-aid kit.
Domesticity, as nauseating as it was, had become all Q had anymore.
Picard's silence prevented any other outlet for the entity's emotions,
which were threatening constantly to boil over. Somewhere in the last
two weeks Q had taken to following Picard at a distance on his morning
run, though he had to take short-cuts and detours, keeping the captain
in sight for about half the time. As much as Q hated to clean, their
living quarters were spotless, and he had fallen into the habit of
keeping his eyes open for anything he needed to buy to increase
Picard's comfort or safety.
Q knew he was pushing his own limits, and he also knew he'd become
even more irritable than Picard was, providing his own daily supply of
grunts and monosyllables. A stranger watching them would have thought
them enemies sharing a jail cell. Q knew would give just abut
anything to change things, to return to the easy camaraderie of their
first days here.
But nothing occurred to him, 2005 IQ or not. And only that moment
when Jean-Luc slid voluntarily, if somewhat reluctantly, into his arms
each night kept him from exploding...though he had started to map out
very elaborate schemes to buy some TNT and turn a few abandoned
buildings into rubble, just to feel like a Q again.
"We're out of milk," Picard noted as Q entered the kitchen.
"I didn't want to leave any to spoil while we were away. There's
cream."
Picard grunted.
"If you don't like the way I order groceries, do it yourself!"
Picard scowled at him, but didn't really meet his eyes, muttering
finally, "I was only noting it," as he got the cream from the fridge
and poured some into his coffee and then into Q's. "Perhaps we should
just have a list somewhere, and write down what's needed."
"Fine."
The day dragged its tense and weary way to four o' clock, as they
checked over the modifications to the security system, tidied up, made
sure escrow had closed on their back-up residence, and brushed up on
their Greenpeace reading.
They left the warehouse an hour and ten minutes before their flight.
It was Q's turn to drive, and he made it to the airport in twenty-five
minutes, never going over the speed limit, never changing lanes
unnecessarily. He checked the rear-view constantly, and almost
started shouting when the pick-up in front of him swerved over without
signaling.
But they did make it safely, parking in the airport lot for ten
dollars a day, before they carried up their bags to American Airlines
and walked to the A-6 terminal.
According to the news, airport security had been almost doubled since
the suitcase full of plastique and nitro had exploded in the mail
terminal at O'Hare seven weeks ago. Walking away from the metal
detectors with their X-rayed bags over their shoulders, Picard
murmured to Q, "That might be a problem, later."
"We should think about getting a charter jet," Q responded. "Though
the licenses are somewhat extreme, unless we do the straight rental."
Picard said nothing more to Q until they had checked in at the gate
and settled themselves with their bags. Boarding didn't begin for
another twenty minutes.
"Q, have I really let as much time go by as I think I have without
complimenting you on how well you're doing?"
"Meaning?"
Picard blinked at him again. "Meaning I've probably been remiss in
not letting you know more often that this has to be utter hell for
you, and that I appreciate..." Picard sighed. "I just appreciate
it."
Q scowled at him. "Save it for your personal log."
First class loaded first, and they made short work of stowing their
bags and settling in. Picard, to Q's muted surprise, took the glass
of champagne, and soon got a second. Q checked his seatbelt and
discretely checked Picard's. He looked over the flight attendants to
see who was least unintelligent, and made a mental chart of their
relative position to all the escape hatches. He listened carefully to
each sound around them, and made sure Picard had nothing sharp
pointing at him. He looked over his blanket and pillow (and Picard's,
covertly) and then watched silently as the captain set himself into
his chair and closed his eyes.
The take-off was smooth enough, and Picard seemed to doze
successfully, until somewhere over Arizona.
The turbulence was nothing remarkable at first. In fact, Q was
surprised when they suspended beverage services.
"Makes me realize I've failed to appreciate inertial damnpeners,"
Picard mumbled, shifting in his seat.
About five minutes later they hit an air pocket that made someone
behind them gasp.
Picard shifted again, and muttered, "They should try to climb above
this."
"I'm sure the pilot had that course."
Picard shifted again.
"Is there something wrong with your seat? They have a couple empty
ones in the front --"
"Stop it! I can't stand your constant --"
"This is the captain speaking. Sorry about the turbulence, but I
thought you'd like to know we've been given clearance to climb above
the clouds, and should find some clearer weather soon."
Picard crossed his legs and leaned his head back against his seat,
rigid in his resting pose. Q snorted.
The plane dropped about three feet. Some people in coach actually
shouted in alarm.
Picard looked at Q, then down at his own body where Q's hands were
holding him into his seat by the shoulder and hip, then back into Q's
eyes, seeing clearly the fear there, and that it was not fear for
himself.
He took the hand on his hip and encased it in his two hands, rubbing
slightly to warm those long fingers.
"We'll be all right, Q. A little plane ride is nothing compared to
falling through the barriers of the universe."
The plane jerked again, but they didn't stop looking at each other.
"I can't stand this," Q hissed over the roar of the plane's engines.
"I can't stand being unable to do anything, if something should
happen...I hate this. >From now on we're going to drive everywhere."
"We're going to *be fine,* Q."
Another bout of turbulence threatened to rattle Q apart, and Picard
could feel the strain through his companion's body, in his eyes, in
the thin line his full lips had become.
Without thinking about it, he pulled up the armrest between them and
turned slightly until he was leaning back against Q's chest, letting
those long arms wrap around him. He briefly met the eyes of the
couple across the aisle and saw the way they frowned, the man in
particular, before they turned away in indignation.
Jean-Luc ignored them. Q's body was relaxing against him even as the
plane continued to rock about. And his own tension was easing as
well. His gut still twisted at each jerk, but he was no longer in
danger of running to the cockpit and pushing the pilot out of the way.
Q sighed, his breath warm on Picard's ear and neck. It brought back
memories.
"Thank you, Jean-Luc."
*Anything for you,* he thought, and so had to settle for a nod to Q in
response. Less and less now was he trusting his own ability to keep
from saying the wrong thing. He'd been a bastard the past two weeks.
He knew that. And yet, even now, while the plane tried to climb over
the turbulence and Q's arms sought only to hold him in place, he could
feel the flicker of his own arousal. It would be easy to imagine Q's
touch changing, bringing him an irresistible pleasure...
*Cold fusion. Most of the scientific community is treating it as a
hoax. How heavily guarded will the equipment be? Will they have
anything we can actually use? Why haven't those damn scientists
published anything worthwhile on it yet?*
But it was no use. The plane was leveling off now, and the ride was
smooth again, and Q's arms were both dangerous and comfortable, and
he'd slept so little last night...
Q felt Picard's head fall back against him and smothered a snort of
surprise. *Honestly, Mon Capitaine. I think you could sleep
anywhere.*
The man across the aisle was giving him the skunk eye. Q looked over
his rather unimpressive body and made a moue of distaste. The man's
eyes narrowed, but he obviously wasn't going to make anything of it.
He buried himself in his magazine and Q let his eyes close, bowing his
head over Picard's and letting himself drift...just a bit.
Senior Flight Attendant Ruth Fordham looked over the cabin with
satisfaction. Considering the rough ride, the passengers had been very
good. No screaming, no running around, no hysterics that needed to be
slapped.
*Well, too bad about that,* she thought very privately, eyeing the
yuppie couple who were still making little faces of distaste at the
gay couple sleeping in each other's arms across the aisle from them.
She wouldn't have minded administering a few slaps on *some* people
today.
She found her gaze lingering on the sleeping men. They made a nice
contrast, one tall and the other compact. Both were obviously in good
shape, and though she didn't usually care for bald men, she found
herself making an exception for the shorter one. They'd been a little
edgy about flying earlier, she'd noticed. It was awfully cute how
they'd settled down once they got all snug against each other.
The pilot called in, and with regret she walked to the men and gently
placed a hand on the tall one's shoulder. They woke up together, she
noted, brown and hazel eyes snapping open to look at her in curiosity.
"I'm sorry," she said in her gentle voice, "but we're landing. We
need you to raise your seatbacks."
They nodded, and the taller one rubbed at his eyes. She turned to the
couple across the aisle and repeated her instructions somewhat more
briskly, then locked up a tray table and opened the curtain between
first class and coach.
Picard looked out the window while his body finished waking up. Los
Angeles looked brown and flat. The freeways reminded him of poorly
tied bandages. Would it all be obliterated in this Earth's WW III as
well?
As much as he enjoyed Earth's early 20th Century in his Dixon Hill
programs, and despite the fond memories he had of the people of the
21st, Jean-Luc realized he would always associate the late 20th
Century not only with his adventure here, but also with a fundamental
sorrow. Such a waste. So much that could have gone right and didn't.
Were any of the people around him going to live to see the world they
thought would happen, or would they end up in the "real" version of
Q's courtroom?
He turned away and met Q's eyes.
"There's nothing you can do, Jean-Luc."
"I know."
Very carefully, they maintained their truce by saying not another word
as the plane landed, taxied and then let them off into the stale air
and busy, shop-lined corridors of LAX. The silence held until the
limo ride to the hotel.
"It's not so bad," Q noted quietly as they were heading down Wilshire.
"What?"
"Being driven around. Perhaps we should get one in New Orleans."
"No."
"But it might be safer to --"
"I'm not going to be driven about!"
"You don't seem to mind it now."
"Right now I'm in a strange city and I'm just going to the hotel. You
did rent us a car for later, didn't you?"
Q looked at him.
"Q..."
"When, exactly, did I become your servant?"
"You wanted to make all the arrangements!"
"That doesn't mean they're now subject to your review."
"So I'm just supposed to do whatever you say we should?"
"Would it kill you to pick up the phone every now and then?"
Picard turned away to look out the tinted window, determined to keep
his breathing normal even if he passed out.
Q turned away as well, trying to get his fists to loosen.
"Fags," the limo driver thought in professionally concealed disgust.
The limo reached Beverly Wilshire Hotel twenty minutes later, and the
driver helped them with their bags before Q tipped him the minimum and
followed the bellboy and Picard inside. Jean-Luc walked directly to
the registration desk, pulling out his Omega American Express.
Q wound up in the gift shop again, though he bought nothing. There
were several magazines featuring news of the day, and none of them had
any mention of cold fusion on their covers. The usual toiletries and
knick-knacks were lined up on the shelves as well. He found himself
staring at a sweatshirt which read "Los Angeles, It's a (Golden) Frame
of Mind." When Picard appeared and jerked his head towards the exit,
Q followed him to the elevator, and then rode up to the 7th floor in
silence.
The suite was airy and spacious, and the bellboy was ready to unpack
for them. Q gave him a nice tip and ushered him out, and then they put
away their own gear until both cases were empty.
"I'm not hungry," Q said.
"No. Neither am I. Our meeting is early..."
"I'll shower first, if you don't mind."
"Go ahead."
END OF PART SIX
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 7/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:29:44 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 7/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:25:55 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Q made it quick, and came out in his pajamas and a whirl of steam. He
noted with some concern that Picard seemed to have done nothing while
he was bathing but sit in the chair by the window, but Q said nothing.
Jean-Luc walked into the bathroom with his pajamas in his hand and
closed the door, then stood there a long while. He had gotten into
the habit of masturbating in the shower before having to deal with Q's
night-long embrace, but right now he knew he wasn't up to it. He
found himself again looking in the mirror. What was it about 20th
Century bathrooms that made him look so bad? His skin looked pallid
and his face was a mess of wrinkles. His bald head shone, his left
ear stuck out, his nose was too big, his lips too small, his eyes
weary little slits.
He took his shirt off, still staring. His chest hair was almost all
gray now, and the skin under his arms was looking old. The pants
next, and he was looking at his skinny legs, and his flattened rear
end. His cock was still long, the tip showing pink, the white
foreskin still smooth, and his balls hadn't dropped too far yet. The
hair was a little darker as well.
Was the skin over his knees starting to bag slightly? Did his hands
look withered?
He closed his eyes and turned away, then opened them and stepped into
the shower, but even there he found the texture of his skin rough and
dry. He hurried through the soaping and rinsing, and got lather in
his eyes. In disgust he stepped out and dried off, not looking in the
mirror, not thinking about anything until he was in his pajamas and
opening the door.
The bedroom was dark, but the large bed was easy to find. Turning off
the bathroom light, he walked forward slowly, found the edge of the
mattress, and felt his way to the top of the covers. He pulled them
down and got under them, helped by hands which brought him deeper into
the bed, settled him down against Q's body, and then moved around to
hold him close. He wanted to say goodnight, and didn't.
Sleep was almost impossible, and when Picard finally managed it,
slumber was shallow and restless. He knew he was turning and
twitching, and that Q's body moved often to accommodate him. The
hours passed somehow, a dotted line of consciousness which brought him
past midnight before he woke up to realize that The Thing had once
again ambushed him.
He was hard.
Fortunately, he was still pressed up to Q on his back side, and Q
himself appeared to be deeply asleep. The only danger came from Q's
right hand, which was hanging slightly over his hip, and thus far too
close to discovering --
Oh dear. The hand was moving. He had to turn around so it didn't
touch him. It was probably the feel of that weight on his hip which
had gotten him aroused in the first place.
He began to roll slightly away, but Q moved with him as though it were
choreographed, and the hand moved around until it was resting on his
erection.
He stopped breathing, his whole body tense.
*Please, Q. Don't wake up.*
"Jean-Luc?"
Picard breathed out and in, as slowly as he could.
"Jean-Luc?" Q's hand curled slightly around him, very gently. "It's
all right."
Picard felt himself getting harder. The silk of his night clothes
moved with Q's hand as it very slightly caressed him. When he didn't
object, Q's touch became a little bolder, pressing a little more
firmly against him. Jean-Luc realized he was shivering, and that his
breathing was getting harder as well.
Q realized with surprise that he wasn't getting aroused. He *felt*
aroused, but the flesh pressed against Jean-Luc's hip didn't stir.
Perhaps he was simply too nervous, too astounded by what he was doing.
Ever-so-carefully, he let his fingers move up and down the length of
him, trying to figure out how to get the pajamas out of the way.
Picard was going to freak out any second now, push him away, curse
him, refuse to sleep with him anymore.
And yet, for now, Jean-Luc was responding. When he moved his hand
down to cup his sac, the man actually breathed out hard enough to make
a near-moan.
His left hand was trapped under Jean-Luc's body. He had to take the
risk of moving his right hand up and then under the waistband, sliding
down to find that firm warmth again.
He couldn't help a start of surprise. The smooth foreskin had pulled
far down the shaft, and the moist skin beneath was so *soft,* softer
than the silk he wore, softer than Q's own penis had felt in his hands
those times he'd had to resort to jerking off in the bathroom before
he could trust himself to go to bed. Trying to keep from panting in
Jean-Luc's ear, he wrapped his hand around the shaft, and let his
thumb move over the blunt head, making a sort of circle, around and
around.
Picard seemed to move just slightly in protest.
"Don't worry," Q whispered, hardly knowing what he was saying,
desperate for more. "I don't mind. It might help you to sleep."
Jean-Luc gasped a laugh. Yes, now he could understand this. Q was
taking care of him again, protecting him, catering to him. Humoring
him.
And yet, this wasn't an experiment, nor was it done of simple
curiosity, or contempt.
Picard felt the slickness of Q's touch now, the thumb spreading his
precum over his head. The fingers were working as well, moving his
foreskin slowly up and down. The simple sensation was beginning to
take him over. How often had he dreamed of this as he worked his hand
over himself? Q's body was so warm against him, his touch so gentle
and tender, and if it weren't so obvious Q wasn't getting excited he
could almost believe this was a mutually fulfilling experience.
The touch grew firmer now, more purposeful, and Jean-Luc realized he
wasn't going to stop it. Behind his closed eyes, the image returned:
himself standing in their kitchen while Q went on his knees, taking
him in his mouth.
He moaned, his hips thrusting into the warmth of Q's hand, and now the
caresses were targeting that spot under the head. He felt himself
getting close.
And then he thought of what that would mean: his semen, in the bed,
in Q's hand. There wouldn't be much, not with his recent nightly
routine, but it would be so *real,* so undeniable, and he thought of
Q's fastidiousness.
"Q," he whispered. "I'm...doesn't this feel...ohhhhh...feel
disgustingly mortal to you?"
Q broke himself out of his dream of stroking Jean-Luc with his lips
and tongue instead of just his hand, which slowed slightly. "You feel
like..." silk, velvet, perfection, Heaven, poetry, fire, some sort of
erotic masterwork, a reason for existence..."my friend."
*Just this once,* Picard begged of himself. *Just this one time.*
His eyes closed again, and there was nothing but the warm dark and Q's
hand, stroking hard now, bringing him to the edge.
"You feel strong," Q said, his voice a new caress. "Strong the way
you always are."
Very quietly, his teeth clamped down on the words he might say, he
came. The pleasure of it was strained, but fierce, and it built up
sharply at the very end, making him tremble and gasp, little shocks
running through him as Q's hand moved up to contain the thick semen,
and, as Jean-Luc had thought, there wasn't much of it.
Afterwards, he lay there in a relief so profound he felt dopey. He
thought of moving, of speaking.
"Go to sleep, Jean-Luc," Q murmured, and the captain felt his eyes
closing. He was so tired. Q moved slightly away, and turned around,
drawing his left arm out from under him, doubtlessly reaching for the
box of tissue on the nightstand.
Yes, there was the quiet "swish" of a tissue, and now there was
nothing left but to fall into the slumber he had been chasing for
weeks, a true rest which kept him from knowing that Q spent quite some
time turned from him, holding the unused tissue in one hand while he
slowly and silently licked the bitter-salt cum from his fingers.
*Riiiiing! Riiiiing!*
"Hello?"
"This is your seven o' clock wake-up call, Mr. Picard."
"Thank you."
Q opened his eyes and watched Jean-Luc replace the receiver, then sit
up. He looked down at Q and nodded.
"Breakfast should be here soon. I'll take the bathroom first, if you
don't mind."
"Not at all."
Picard nodded again and threw back the covers before walking out.
When the door closed, Q let his eyes shut again, running his tongue
around his mouth, seeking the taste of something long gone.
He'd thought it was a dream at first, a dream where his hand was
resting on Jean-Luc's erection. Only when it had occurred to him what
a horrible mistake he might have made did he snap awake, and then...
He'd done so many sexual acts in his life. Could he really think
holding some man's cock in his hand was so different, so special?
*It has nothing to do with his cock.*
Should he have tried for more last night? Perhaps he could have taken
Jean-Luc into his mouth.
Q smothered a groan and got out of bed, shoving the covers back
roughly, not wanting Picard to see him in bed when he came out.
*If he ever comes out of there. He's using up all the hot water.
This is Los Angeles, you know. They don't have a lot of the stuff to
spare. Hell hole.*
Someone knocked on the door, and Q felt himself go into a sort of pre-
crouch.
"Yes?"
"Room service."
Q fetched his bathrobe and opened the door to demure woman who rolled
in their tray with an equally demure smile. He tipped her to make her
go away, then felt his stomach roll at the sight of the food. A cup
of coffee had been forced down by the time Picard emerged, and Q
brushed past him before he closed the door, scowling at the steam.
The water left red marks on his stomach, and the soap bottle fell out
of his hands, landing on his toe. Finally, he placed his hands on the
yellow tile and closed his eyes, letting his head hang forward.
The weight between his legs *needed,* but the thought of touching
himself repelled. In a fair universe, he could call Jean-Luc in here
and demand that he take care of it.
"Ohhhh," he breathed out, very quietly. The images came to him, so
many to choose from. And today he was evidently seeking something
novel. So often had he thought of that erection in his mouth, he
could almost control his response to the familiar there. But now
different images came: Jean-Luc not touching or kissing or even
sucking him, but Jean-Luc on his elbows and knees, moaning for more
while Q plunged inside him, into all that tight heat and strength,
muscles and sinews pulled tight.
*You feel so good, Q. I love it. More. More of your cock. More of
*you.**
It were as though he could *hear* Jean-Luc's voice, and he knew he was
borrowing on some of the knowledge he'd gained watching Picard with
Vash -- what a self-revealing moment of torture *that* had been! But
he was also using the way Jean-Luc felt against him in bed, and those
little gasps he had made as Q had touched him last night.
*How did that happen? Can I make it happen again?*
Q's eyes opened into the steam of the shower. His hand, inevitably,
had found his erection. It wouldn't take much more, and he'd spill
himself into the polluted water that these people had to use, living
here in the desert. Horrid water. Who even knew where it had been?
*Harder, Q. I love it. More of you.*
He'd been Human too many days. He came, and it was only relief, and
not much relief at that. He rinsed quickly, the water's heat making
him feel faint, and then moved through the rest of the tiresome Human
grooming process until he was ready to go into the bedroom and finish
getting dressed.
Jean-Luc was drinking coffee and reading the paper. He looked up
sharply when Q, dressed in his suit, walked towards the breakfast cart
for a roll.
"There's been another terrorist bombing at an airport. The JFK."
"World's going to hell."
Q made himself eat the entire roll with butter and jelly. Picard
seemed to find it odd that he ate standing up. They made eye contact
when it was time to go, and then went to the limousine Q had arranged.
At the end of the 20th century, the medical building at UCLA was the
second largest building in America. When Picard and Q checked in at
the security desk, it took some doing to assure the personnel that
they knew what office they wanted, and where it was located. Both of
them had memorized the layout of the complex, as Q had already hacked
into the computer system as much as he could. The cold fusion
research was not simply well-protected, but kept separate from the
mainframe. However, he had already learned most of the passwords he
would require, should this trip prove worthwhile.
Drs. Lancet and Steward were not in the *Better Homes and Gardens*-
style office when the "Greenpeace Heavy-Weights" entered, but it
didn't take long for the door to open again and admit them.
Janet Lancet was a tall woman with long brown hair and dark brown
eyes. Her smile was false without apologies, and her handshake
absently bruising. Connie Steward was shorter, with very thin gray-
black hair draping lightly over a magnificently shaped cranium, and
darkly arched brows over hazel eyes. She didn't bother to smile, but
her handshake was cordial in its no-nonsense fashion.
"We've already assured everyone we could that our research is not a
threat to the environment," Steward stated, "but we're happy to do our
part to work with environmental groups like yours at any stage of our
work."
Dr. Lancet grunted. "Oh, we're always thrilled to hold anybody's
hand."
Steward threw Lancet a look, then smiled at the men again. "I've
looked over the letters you sent, and, I must say, your understanding
of our work is impressive. One doesn't usually meet people from
Greenpeace who have such a sound understanding of physics."
"We do our best," Q said in a tone only Picard could know was subdued.
"It's precisely that understand which should make you realize your
fears are unfounded," Lancet put in, uncrossing her legs and sitting
forward impatiently.
"Are we to understand that you've changed your minds about showing us
your work?" Q asked.
"Of course not," Steward assured them. "In fact, if you're ready..."
She stood up, and the others followed.
Picard and Q dropped back slightly as the scientists led them down a
corridor.
"Q," the captain whispered. "Am I completely mistaken, or --"
"Yes," Q hissed. "They are."
"Here we go," Steward said with a smile, opening up a thick door with
a swipe of her ID card. There was a long buzz, then they were
evidently cleared. Q and Picard had both counted ten uniformed guards
by the time they reached the lab.
*Their heat ratio is all wrong,* Q thought, *but that can be fixed.*
*We'd need a more efficient filtering system, but nothing we couldn't
jury-rig at home,* Picard noted.
*Getting the parts sent to the blind address won't be hard, but the
customs might be tricky.*
*They're using far too much shielding. We could cut the size of the
processor unit by a fifth.*
*Look at those injector points! You can really tell Humans built
this!*
*What's the uranium for? Oh, I see. Well, we certainly won't need
that. Iron would do better, and I'm sure we can get that shipped
easily enough, though it will need to be pure.*
"Considering the trouble we're taking, and the lost time for our
research," Lancet snapped, "the two of you could at least listen a
little more carefully. This isn't kindergarten, you know!"
"Our apologies," Picard said with a smile while Q simply sneered.
"Have you and I met somewhere before?" Steward asked Q.
"No."
"We're just taken in by all the work that you two have done here,"
Picard went on smoothly. "It's really an amazing leap forward,
considering the state of cold fusion research before you two came on
the scene." He gestured around the lab. "We're watching the future
take shape here."
Lancet looked mollified and offered to show them the venting system.
"Would you mind a question about your computer security?" Picard asked
a few minutes later as they were being shown out. "We have several
back at the office who've voiced concerns about the dangers of
hackers."
"Our system is completely self-contained," Steward said with a half-
smile. "UCLA has its own server, and we get our own little section of
it, with no data interfacing."
"How clever of you," Q announced somewhat dryly. Lancet eyed him, but
no other comment was made before they were back at the lovely (and
somewhat unused-looking) office in which they had met.
"Will you be staying on the campus today? They're having a lovely
free jazz concert in Royce Hall," Steward said while Lancet looked at
her watch.
"We'll try to catch it," Picard said with a smile, holding out his
hand for a shake.
Unnoticed by either of them, Q was looking at what he could see of
Steward's legs, then allowed his slow gaze to travel up her strong,
shapely form until it settled on her breasts. He smiled just
slightly, then shot a look at Lancet, who was glaring at him.
He came very close to grabbing Lancet in a hug. He settled for a
genuinely warm smile, unconcerned that she only answered it with
confusion. He shook Steward's hand and left only a step behind Jean-
Luc.
"You're in a good mood," the man murmured as they made it to the
sidewalk. "Meeting your doppelganger seems to have agreed with you."
"Actually, I thought Dr. Lancet was charming, brilliant, and
captivating. Too bad for little Dr. Steward that women around here
don't shave their heads. She's probably using Rogaine."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment, Q."
Q shrugged, spying their limo. "If you like."
Picard stopped walking, turned, and looked up into Q's eyes.
The dark brown gaze held for a moment, then darted away for a moment
only. But when it returned, there was nothing there.
"Q...we have to...you realize they're lovers?"
Q shrugged, and it was like watching a stick-figure move. "They
wouldn't be able to get married here, now."
"Do you think they could have suspected anything about us?"
"Doubtful. Their understanding of the universe wouldn't allow it."
"Still, there can be no sign whatsoever of your entrance into their
computer system."
Q rolled his eyes, moving just slightly out of the way when a young
woman in red spandex roller-bladed by. "Spare me from illiterates.
'We're on the server but we're not connected.' I can do it from one
of the library computers, I'm sure."
"Coffee, Q."
Q nodded, and they walked towards Westwood with a signal to their
driver to stay put. Sipping expresso in a window-side table,
listening to soft classical music, both with so many words in their
mouths they couldn't swallow properly, they said nothing. Red spandex
showed up with a boyfriend, and Picard assumed they'd chosen a popular
place. He preferred the Café du Monde.
"Do you hate me for it?" Q asked, startling Picard almost into
spilling his now tepid coffee.
He looked at Q, not wanting to pretend it wasn't the only thing on his
mind as well. "No. You were right. It helped me sleep."
Q winced.
Picard jammed his mouth shut before he asked if Q wanted to be
"helped" as well, and stared down at his coffee cup.
"I wanted do it." Q leaned forward, his fists on the table. "I...was
glad to --"
"Talking about it is pointless. I trust you won't find it necessary
to --" Picard bit off the sentence and shook his head. The fingers of
his right hand were worrying his wedding ring. "I mean, I don't want
to be concerned about its happening again."
"We're two grown men, Jean-Luc. You've doubtlessly woken up before to
find me with a hard-on." Hazel eyes snapped up to his in shock. "I'm
not thrilled about that, but I'm not foolish enough to say it won't
happen again."
"I didn't mind." The words were out. There was nothing he could do
about them, even as Q frowned and wouldn't look away.
Then Q actually bit his lip. "You know, considering what we have to
be to each other here, we might consider..."
Jean-Luc could only wait.
"...that we could help each other, as a matter of...as part of our
lives."
"Are you suggesting an agreement, Q?"
"Being here is difficult on both of us. I think it would very likely
help us both. I've already been candid about my need for contact,
being away from the Continuum like this, and you have no one else
here. And it's not as though we don't know each other well enough."
*Say yes. Oh, God, say yes. Think of his hands on you, his mouth,
touching and being touched.
*Certainly. And then I climax and say his name and "I love you" and
then what?
*Say yes anyway. Say yes. Say yes.*
"Q, that isn't the sort of thing two people just agree to do for each
other, without affection, without attraction."
Q still wouldn't look away, not even when he realized his left fist
had completely folded back a small coffee spoon. "No. It's not."
Picard closed his eyes. "All right, then. I suppose it would help."
When he could look again, Q was staring out the window.
"Very good. The library isn't far from here, if you're up to
walking."
It took two hours at the computer for Q to reach the section of the
server he wanted without tripping any recognition of his presence.
The design specs were somewhat simple to download after that.
The only difficult part had been setting up the school computer with
the mega-ZIP-drive, including the actual apparatus, without attracting
the notice of the somewhat hawk-like librarian. She'd spotted them
almost the moment they'd come in, and didn't seem mollified by the
school ID cards they produced.
Picard took up point, then, while Q downloaded the information into a
host of 250 MG ZIP cassettes.
*Binary systems,* he thought with disgust.
It was done, however, and they were on their way without trouble,
saying almost nothing during the drive to the hotel.
"We'll need several weeks to get everything on order," Q did say at
one point.
"We'll start calling when we get to the room," Picard agreed. "Most
the nation is still at work now."
Q nodded, and the tension snapped back into place.
After running up an astronomical phone bill, they ate at the hotel
restaurant, and lingered over coffee until, despite the fact that they
hadn't spoken since their salads, Picard shook his head.
"This isn't a good idea."
"You're backing out?"
Comprehension dawned. "You're looking forward to having me do
something for you?"
"Meet the Wiz Kid."
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize..." Picard looked at the waiter,
wondering how he was keeping his heartbeat from being heard all over
the restaurant. The excitement of the thought that Q wanted him this
way, that it wasn't just another thing Q was doing to take care of
him...Q wanted, for whatever reason, for Jean-Luc to touch him, to
make him feel good.
He felt much better about the possibility of not giving himself away
if he were the one doing the pleasuring. Yes, let Q lie on his back,
naked, while Picard ran his fingertips over that smooth skin,
breathing him in, watching him...
Perhaps he could persuade Q to try a blindfold.
END OF PART SEVEN
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 8/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:30:32 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 8/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:26:05 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
They rode the elevator in silence, entered the room, bolted the door.
"What --" His voice was too loud. He calmed it. "What would you
like?"
Q smiled, but it was empty. They couldn't meet the other's eyes.
They walked, awkward, sideways, to the bedroom, not coming too close.
When Q clicked off the light, Picard sighed. They could still see
each other easily, but details were blurred. Perhaps it would be
enough.
Q couldn't stop staring at Picard's hands. They were large hands for
a man his size, and as expressive in their own way as the man's voice
and eyes.
The sense of unreality -- a Human concept -- which had begun the
moment Picard allowed Q to touch his cock had continued to this
moment, and Q thought he might be choking. This had been the worst
idea he'd ever had. It could only make Picard hate him.
It didn't matter. In a few moments, he would have Jean-Luc's cock in
his mouth.
"I'd like a shower, and I suspect you would too. I think we should
stick with our usual routine, don't you? I mean, it's more
comfortable." Q wondered if, should he ever again stop talking so
abruptly, his tongue would snap in two.
Picard nodded, and, after a moment, headed into the bathroom.
Eventually, they both got into their pajamas, and into the bed, not
speaking, lying on their backs, waiting.
"If you're tired..." Picard began, a husky whisper in the dark.
Q slid over, pushing the covers down a bit, leaning on his elbow,
looking down. Picard waited for him to speak.
The dark head bent down, and a full, warm mouth sought his own. Jean-
Luc started slightly, and the lips missed his, landing instead on his
cheek, where they rested, gently.
"What do you like, Q?"
"Touch me."
"Where?"
"Any -- here. On my side."
Picard made himself not think about it. His left hand crossed his own
body in a sort of arc, and landed on Q's side, feeling his warmth
through the thin silk, resting in the curve of his hip. A moment, and
then he slid his palm down to the bone that jutted out, then up again,
to the shoulder, a practiced move that allowed him to draw the
shoulder closer, to encourage Q to lean forward a little. God, he was
so warm, so solid against him. He turned his head, his breath gone,
waiting for the moment when they would kiss.
Lips touched, a gentle pressure on both sides, so tender, so careful.
Picard's eyes pricked with tears Q did not see, his own eyes shut
tight.
"I hate the thought of how lonely you must be." God, he hadn't meant
to say anything. He was doomed. This could never work.
But he couldn't back out now.
"I'm not lonely right this second, Jean-Luc."
He smiled, and allowed his hand to ruffle through Q's hair. It was
surprisingly soft, and tangled with a sort of coy reluctance around
his fingers.
That mouth landed on his chest, and he couldn't help gasping. Warmth
trickled down through him, and the trail went lower.
"Q...I thought, this is your turn."
"I gave you what you wanted, before, didn't I?"
"I -- yes."
"This is what I want." The mouth reached the waistband of his
pajamas. A hand now was pulling at the elastic.
"But this is supposed to...I'm supposed to...to you."
"Shhhh."
Picard made himself stop everything, and yet still his legs spread and
his hips lifted, and then --
"No!"
Q stopped, his hand cupped around the warm sac, his mouth less than an
inch from the red, weeping cockhead. He could smell the man's arousal
now, and the cock in his hand twitched as his fingers contracted just
slightly.
*He can't mean it.*
"Q, I can't just let you. Don't you want me to do this to you?"
"I'd rather do it to you, and it's *my turn.*"
As though he were falling slowly backwards, Picard reached out, found
Q's hip again, and slid his hand inside and along until he found the
hardness that allowed this to continue. Q did want this, did want to
be touched. Even as Picard's fingers closed around silk and the cock
within it, Q gasped his name and fell back, his own hand sliding from
Picard's length.
Sitting up made his pounding heart feel compressed as Jean-Luc ripped
down the thin pants and then smoothed his hands up the insides of Q's
muscled thighs. Salt-sweet and warm loam smells, and the heat of Q's
flesh, hard against his palms, his fingers.
"Jean-Luc!" Q wailed as he sprawled on his back and thrust up without
rhythm. Picard's hands were there, holding him, urging him on.
*I could take him in my mouth,* Picard thought, and bent down. A hand
grasped his, trying to still him. He shoved it away.
"Jean-Luc? Please...I can't stand this."
"I'll make it good for you, Q. Please trust me." Why should Q trust
him? His hands were shaking, there was not a hint of saliva in his
mouth, and he'd never done this before.
"Ohhh, lay on top of me. Please. Just lay on top of me and be here
with me."
The man spread himself down, desperate to be able to do what Q wanted.
And he could do this. He could make it through, even though his
throat was clogging with words, and the dim room seemed filled with
red light. He felt his lips pressed and pulled back against his
teeth, desperate for the touch of Q's lips. His hands were claws,
scrabbling at Q's shoulders.
A hot cock brushed his own. Q's silken cock.
"Ohhhh. I love you."
Oh God. It was out. He had said it.
Q groaned.
"Q, I love you. God, I love you so much. I've loved you for so
long." The words were moaned, luxuriously, into that long neck.
Jean-Luc's hands were everywhere, touching, while their hips ground
together, silk sliding between their chests while bare cocks caressed
in broken tempo. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
Q choked out a string of sounds, then reached out and pulled Picard's
head towards his own, locking them in a kiss. Without gentleness, he
plundered Jean-Luc's mouth, wanting to devour, to own, to have as
close as possible. His body strained at the lack of not *being* Jean-
Luc, and he felt his legs wrapping around tightly, his arms pressing,
the limited flesh denying them both.
Rough pubic hairs scraped the head of Q's cock, and he screamed into
that beloved mouth, his whole body now caught up in the hot rush
through and out and not enough but so much more than he'd had before,
losing himself, still kissing, still touching, never to be broken
apart.
When Q came, Picard was already shaking, joining him while still
thinking only of him, angry that as he came he couldn't breathe,
couldn't continue to drink in Q's body with every sense. And yet
there was joy unlike any he'd known, continuing to think the words *I
love you. I love you.*
Picard only knew he'd drifted off when he was cold. His body shot
into a sitting position, heart beating as though his ship were being
rocked with Borg fire.
"Q?"
"In here." Q emerged from the bedroom with a washcloth and walked
quickly to the bed, still without his pants. "Just thought you'd like
--"
"Yes, thank you." Picard took the cloth and turned away, sitting on
the edge of the bed. Of course Q would want to clean up now.
"Jean-Luc?"
"I should go into the bathroom, I suppose, for a shower." He tried to
find his pants without being too obvious.
"Jean-Luc, damnit. Look at me."
He tried to turn around, straining against locked muscles, but ended
up simply staring ahead at the dim outline of the wall. When Q
touched his shoulder he jumped, then settled, trying to control,
trying to relax, to be whatever Q needed him to be, to be whatever he
needed himself to be to get through this.
"Jean-Luc, did you ever manage to hear me tell you how I feel?"
Picard turned around, and, more than any one other thing, he noticed
how quiet the room was. Impressive for this era, when one remembered
the very busy street just outside.
"No." Hazel eyes watched quietly, and it seemed to Q that they were
the eyes some Human might turn to his from behind the boundary of a
cell. The entity had a strange sense of floating as he alit beside
Jean-Luc on the bed, and his stomach hurt.
"Some Humans have a tendency to say anything in bed. It's caused more
than a few of your bloodier moments in history," Q said, hearing his
own drawl with both regret and relief. "If you want to say you didn't
mean it..." Q's eyes had lost their struggle and begun to trace the
outlines of the flesh and muscle of the naked legs bent between them,
half-on the bed. Then the even greater battle was lost, and his gaze
came to rest on the softly curled penis resting against a sinewy
thigh, its base dusted lightly with gray-black hairs, the foreskin now
showing only the very tip of the pink head, a shy treasure that made
Q's mouth water.
"We both know I meant it, Q," Picard rumbled, his eyes closing in
defeat.
That snapped Q out of it, and he was looking into Picard's shuttered
face in confusion. He reached out not to caress, but to shake his
shoulder, and the narrow eyes creaked open.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Picard sighed. It was actually a relief just to talk about it. "I'm
sure the nature of my feelings have been obvious to you for some time
now, for all my efforts to disguise them."
Q had never in his entire existence spoken so carefully. "The only
feelings that have been obvious to me for the past few weeks are
hostility and bare tolerance. If you feel anything else for me, if
you really love me, I need you to say it and *mean* it, and I need you
to say and mean it before I suck your cock."
Picard's mouth went dry again, and he had to work his tongue for
moisture before he could speak.
Q went on during this pause. "Because I'm going to, no matter what
you say next. I have to."
"You *have* to, Q?"
Q nodded, his gaze going down the man's body again. Picard shivered.
"It's all I can think about anymore. All these weeks you've been a
bastard to me, I've kept myself going by thinking about the moment
your Human semen would spill into my mouth, and I could drink you up."
That dark stare suddenly snapped onto Jean-Luc's dazed eyes. "It's so
Q-like, you see. It's the first thing I ever thought of doing to
you."
"The Q...fellate each other?" Picard asked weakly. "God, Q. Do you
want me? Have you wanted me?"
Q smiled, a little grim and a little desperate, and then moved his
head forward and down.
"No!" Picard grabbed his shoulders, holding him off, willing him to
look up into his eyes again. "You can suck me forever, but I have to
know, Q."
Q did look up, slowly, his smile changing slightly, a lopsided curl.
"Forever? Can I hold you to that?"
"I love you, Q."
"Then prove it." Q moved his shoulders away, and Picard, looking
lost, let him go.
The dark head moved down again, slowly, and Jean-Luc watched that
mouth near him until the tilt of Q's head hid everything from view.
He felt the brush of soft lips against the rim of his foreskin, and a
warm tongue lapped at his exposed cockhead. Q's hot hands pulled his
hips forward slightly, and Jean-Luc fell back against the soft pillows
and the hard headboard with a thump and a moan.
"Do whatever you want to me, Q," he whispered. "Whatever you want."
Q wasn't listening, couldn't hear anything over the roar of blood in
his ears. Jean-Luc's cock tasted absolutely unique in the universe,
and the incredible softness of him against his lips and tongue had
charmed him, drugged him.
He had simply wanted this too long. He knew, quite well, he needed to
stop and talk to Jean-Luc. There seemed to be legitimate cause to
believe he might be getting more here than just tolerance and sex.
Picard didn't tell people he loved them, not like that. It was
significant. He should stop and understand this better.
But stopping was simply out of the question. Picard's cock was
sliding back now along his tongue, filling his mouth, and -- yes!
There was the first taste of pure semen, not quite the same as the
energy he had once known from those Q who had shared with him,
millions of eons ago, but so similar, even in this form, in fact,
somehow better, that he was drunk with it.
He sucked hard, caressing, drawing in, and if he hadn't been scared
out of his mind it would have been better than he had ever dreamed.
When Picard put his hand down in his hair, Q flushed with warmth, and
when the hand did not press him down or pull him away, but merely
caressed him, Q got his throat unlocked and took the long length of
him all the way in.
*Good thing I practiced this so much.*
Picard didn't last much longer after that. Those narrow hips under
his hands thrust up, the good captain screamed his name, and then what
Q had longed for happened. His eyes closed, he drank in Jean-Luc's
semen, tasted it, *knew* it, and then swallowed, and a part of the
man's essence was now a part of his own body.
*I wonder how you'd feel if I told you that according to Q customs
we're now married, Mon Capitaine?*
Of course, Q "marriages" were designed with a time limit, and the
whole practice had been abandoned since before Earth had turned solid.
But the symbols were still recognized, and, as far as Q was concerned,
this rite would be repeated until Picard himself...
What did Picard think? Had he meant it? Did he love him?
"Q?"
Q slid up the bed to glare down into the man's eyes. "You'd better
mean it."
Jean-Luc opened his mouth to answer, and closed again to seal Q's
kiss. His daze was beginning to dissipate, and for the first time he
was truly feeling the kiss: Q's heat, the sureness of that pressure,
the tentative touch of a tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth
again, and Q's tongue was inside him. He sucked on it gently, tasting
himself, and felt the warm body over him shiver.
A hand came to rest on his stomach, stroking so softly, and then Q
shifted, and he felt enveloped by the embrace, held close and almost
*absorbed* by it.
But Q tore his mouth away with a moan. "You'd better mean it."
Jean-Luc looked up into Q's eyes and felt shame. He hated himself
that Q looked so lost, so needy. But he had said that he loved him -
had repeated it often, in fact. What more could he say than that?
And so with a soft kiss on Q's lips, he turned over on his stomach and
spread his legs.
"Jean-Luc? What are you doing?"
"If you want me, Q..."
Q's stomach contracted viciously, but not with arousal. Not like
this, like animals. He'd fucked things before in his life, and he
certainly wanted to be inside Picard in every possible way, but
*this,* while the man lay there and endured...
"Why? What are you doing?"
Picard sighed. "I love you, Q."
"Oh..." Only then did he understand. Picard was offering this --
when he doubtlessly didn't want to -- as a show of love, perhaps even
of faith and trust. It wasn't an angle Q had ever considered.
He'd thought he'd show Picard, eventually, that this could be good.
He'd dreamed of teaching the man all the ways his body could be
pleasured. But he'd never thought Picard would offer him his ass to
prove something.
He wanted insane desire, not a sacrifice. He wanted Picard to *need*
him inside his body, not tolerate him.
*But he's offering me this to show he loves me.* Q allowed his hand
to trail along Picard's perfect back. The man was as tense as an
Idion ice snake. He probably thought that Q was about to hurt him.
His arms now moved in their old pattern, gathering the man in close,
holding his back against Q's chest and belly, sharing heat. But now
for the first time he placed a line of tender kisses along the neck,
then up and over the smooth head, and smiled in the dark when he felt
Jean-Luc relax a bit.
"Jean-Luc, let's stay here."
Several seconds went by in silence.
"What?"
"Let's not go back to our own universe. Let's not go back to where
you're a captain and I'm an entity you can't trust for the sake of
mankind. Let's not go back to the Continuum and Riker and Guinan and
Vash and Troi and all the rest of it. Let's stay here and be two
mortals and just be together."
"You'd die here, Q."
Q closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Picard's shoulder.
"I don't care."
Picard didn't answer, except with broken breathing, and Q went on,
dreamily:
"Being with you would be worth it."
"Is it...that you're bored, back in our world, Q?"
"No. It's that I love you."
The words hurt. "I'm a Human, Q. An aging man who's been snarling at
you for weeks. I've done nothing but argue with you and...Q..." He
turned in Q's arms, settling within that embrace when he could look
into Q's eyes. They were almost glaring at him, and yet they had
softened as he had never seen them before.
"Think of it, Picard. We could just stay here and make love all the
time. We've all the money we need to be safe, even if they do start a
war. We'll go to the islands, or live underground, and we'll have
food and games, and our beds -- lots of beds, and just stay in them
and touch each other all the time and be -- "
"Q."
"...together. I'll suck you whenever you want, and you can do what
you like with me, and I can teach you things you've -"
"Q, please..."
"...never thought of. You have no idea what I -"
"Q!"
"Don't say no, please, *damnit,* Jean-Luc!"
"How can I say yes to hiding, Q? Do you think I'm ashamed of you?
I'll love you in any universe."
"I'm not talking about shame, I'm talking about time! Do you think
you're going to want to be in bed with me when your ship is waiting
for your command? And what about when the Continuum has some new task
for me? They've gotten their hooks into me properly now, you know.
All that damn guilt and pain from the war, and the way they just took
over Junior, and...Jean-Luc, it can be just us here, don't you
realize? It can be just us."
And Picard let himself think of it, his head now resting on Q's chest,
and chuckled with the realization. "What you're describing is nothing
short of paradise, Q."
"Then you really do love me?"
"More than...I can't describe it. Shakespeare, Mozart, and Ait'thel
all together working for eternity couldn't describe it, Q. You are
love, and the possibility of love to me, Q."
Q shuddered and held him close. "I can't believe this. I can't
believe you're saying this to me."
"You offered once before to give up your powers and be with me. I
didn't believe it then. I suppose I should have."
"It was too soon for us then. This is our time."
"Time..."
"What?"
Picard raised up and smiled into Q's eyes. "We don't have to give up
going back, you know. We could live a life here, then return at the
end, and then be the ages we were when we left, continuing on with our
lives and our duties. We would still be together, but perhaps, after
thirty years of loving each other, we might feel a little less
urgency."
"Doubt it," Q mumbled, smiling as well. "But I like the idea of
thirty years here. Are you really saying you'll do this?"
"You can restore us just as we were...only we wouldn't have to forget
anything." The man's eyes clouded slightly. "Once before I lived an
entire life and knew love, and children, and returned to command my
ship. It almost killed me, losing that. Now life has offered me the
opportunity to live a life for love once again, only this time it's my
choice. Why shouldn't I take it? Why shouldn't I be allowed to love
you?"
"I would die for you, you know," Q said seriously, then didn't know
whether to be pleased or worried when Picard rocked slightly at the
words. "And I also don't want to live without you in my life. If in
the end you need to die, I'll go there with you."
"Go where?"
Q smiled. "Where mortals go when they die."
"You've been there before?"
Q shook his head. "It will be an adventure for both of us."
"Q."
"I love the way you say my name, Jean-Luc Picard."
The man shivered and moved so that his whole body was touching Q's.
"Did you come to this world after me because you love me?"
"Of course."
"That day I cut my hand..."
"Ugh." Q flinched. "I almost lost it, that day."
Penitently, Jean-Luc kissed gently at Q's chest. "I could tell that
you cared, but I was so worried you'd realize how I felt about you."
"And how is that?" Q shifted, letting Picard's weight settle him more
completely against him. He felt something twitch against his belly,
and relaxed into warmth.
"I told you," Picard muttered, still kissing. Q watched that smooth
head moving gently over him and began to tremble. It was almost
impossible to accept that Jean-Luc loved him. He was numb in spots,
as though time were needed to let the idea seep in completely.
Another soft kiss over his sternum, then another, closer to his left
nipple. Q's eyes kept wanting to close, especially when he thought of
what this person with him was: the one entity in countless millennia
in whom Q had believed, in whom Q placed his trust. He thought of the
man's poetic spirit, of his infinite loyalty and determination to do
right. He thought of his courage -- however foolhardy it became at
times -- and of his incomparable beauty. The man radiated power, and,
as a not-half-bad-herself woman had recently noted, he engendered
trust. And safe inside Q's body was a part of him, a little exchange
which bound them together.
"Tell me again," Q urged, reveling in the selfish need of it.
"I love you."
"I love you too. I couldn't make them understand," Q's trembling was
growing into shivers as a warm, soft mouth finally closed on his
nipple.
"Make them understand what?" Jean-Luc's breath stirred over his
chest.
"After you solved the temporal puzzle, I tried to make them see how
stupid the whole thing was. They told me I was just mad that they
were horning in on my fun. So I told them how I felt, and it was like
I'd lost the power of speech. They just stared at me. Q asked me if I
felt all right."
Picard's head had come up so, and now he smiled slowly into Q's eyes.
"And how do you feel, Q?"
END OF PART EIGHT
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
http://www.onelist.com/subscribe.cgi/ASCEML
========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 9/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:31:19 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 9/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:26:15 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Q smiled back as one of his numb places abruptly grew warm. In a
moment, he had Picard on his back and had moved to cover him. It was
so amusing, and so erotic, the way Picard's body was so small Q felt
as though he could wrap all around him. As he plundered long, slow,
deep kisses, he felt the man's erection against his thigh as a
triumph. He stretched slightly and let their cocks brush, and Jean-
Luc immediately began to move against him.
"No," Q whispered. "Wait." He slithered down, and again held Picard
in his mouth.
"Ohhhhhhhhyessssssssss," the man sighed, until the hiss rained into a
guttural moan. He didn't understand why this particular act meant so
much to Q, but the intensity of his approach suited Picard's
desperation quite well. "I was...thinking about this...in the
kitchen. When I cut myself."
Q groaned and slid the hot cock in his mouth deeper inside. His hands
smoothed up that perfect body to find and caress tight nipples, and he
wanted it all so fiercely he almost didn't feel that he was having
anything.
*Thirty years won't even begin to be enough for us, Jean-Luc.* It was
an odd thought: dying happy.
Q reached over then and found Picard's hand, stroking where the
kitchen knife's thin pink scar still showed, not fumbling, seeing
clearly in his mind's eye the wound he still felt uneasy about. He'd
feared infection, or another cut, more than he had once feared the
Callamarain.
"I love you." The baritone words rumbled out, vibrating along the
flesh in his mouth, and Q quietly came, shuddering as his own warm
essence trickled down his thigh, unknown to the man who moaned and
grabbed at Q's hand, holding fast. Another moment, and Q was drinking
him in yet again, waiting until there was nothing left, then nuzzling
the warm sac and licking the tender skin.
Hands pulled at his shoulders and Q slid up, wrapping arms around the
man's body, closing his eyes to enjoy it. There was a light touch at
his groin.
"Q?"
"Yes?"
"You're not..."
"Had mine. Don't worry about it. Time to sleep."
"But I want to -- don't you understand, Q?"
With effort, Q opened his eyes. Picard was looking at him with
concern obvious even in the dim light. Q tried to focus, his Human
body struggling to flop back and sleep.
"I want to make you feel good too, Q."
Q smiled. "You do. You are."
Picard frowned, but reached over to kiss him before turning to settle
back in his arms again. Q sighed, hoping the happiness of it was as
easy to hear as it was to feel, and slept.
~~~//~~~*
Jean-Luc's legs were asleep, his bladder was going to burst, and his
nose itched.
Q's breathing was deep and regular, as was his own. Neither of them
had moved in the past hour or so since Picard had awakened.
Oh dear, he was getting a cramp in his left leg now. Could he stretch
it gently away? There was a small sound as skin slid against the
sheet.
"Jean-Luc?"
Picard felt his body go tense, and tried to ease himself around, but
the motion was jerky and graceless, and then he was looking into Q's
deeply guarded eyes, and neither of them spoke.
The moment pressed in on them, until Q made a noise suspiciously like
a titter.
"My heart is pounding."
"I love you, Q."
Q groaned in relief and fell towards him, splaying out across his
body, holding him and pressing him deliciously down into the mattress.
"How long have you been awake?" the muffled question tickled his neck.
Jean-Luc smiled. "About an hour."
Q laughed, and kissed him.
"I've been awake since dawn, I think." Q kissed him again, caressing
him with his hips. When Picard didn't immediately respond, he drew
back in alarm.
"I'm sorry," Jean-Luc whispered, "but I really have to..." His eyes
went to the door.
Q laughed, concealing a sigh of relief, then settled back on the bed
luxuriously to watch his lover walk across the room naked. At the
door, Jean-Luc sent back a look that made Q's toes curl, and long
after the door was shut, Q lay there, smiling in anticipation.
The knock at the door didn't disturb him. Only the second one quite
reached his ears.
Frowning, and shrugging into a plush white robe, Q walked to the door
and peered through the fish-eye hole. Two men were standing in the
hall, both dressed in military uniforms, a lieutenant and a private.
As Q watched, eyes wide, the one on the left knocked again, sharply.
"Who's at the door?" Picard asked quietly.
Q twirled around, hands raised and moving up and down. Picard raised
an eyebrow, but remained silent while Q hoped fervently their Omega
Expresses had bought them truly superior sound-proofing.
Another knock, and then silence. Q looked again carefully. The men
seemed to have taken up a sort of informal guarding of the door. He
made way for Jean-Luc to see, then both of them moved away from the
door.
"We must have signaled our presence in the mainframe," Picard said,
not sparing Q the unpleasant truth.
Q looked ready to argue, then simply shrugged. "It doesn't matter
what tipped them."
"We can't start over. If we run now we can't ever go back to the
warehouse. I'm not ready to give up all that work."
"So we just open the door?"
"Surely at this point all they want is some questions answered, Q."
"We don't know what they want. We don't know what they know."
"We're American citizens, as far as they're concerned. We can't
simply be made to disappear."
"You're been naturalized. They'll suspect you."
"As what? A British agent?"
"I can't let them -"
"Q." Picard's eyes stopped him more than the name. "I'll be fine.
We'll get through this."
"I hate this."
"I know." He reached out to touch Q's lips with his fingertips,
unable to keep from thinking of how incredible it was to be allowed
this gesture after such a long, seemingly hopeless wait. "I love
you."
Q caught the hand against his mouth, and kissed it. "I love you,
Jean-Luc."
Picard wore pants and a shirt, but left his shoes off when he opened
the door.
"Hello?"
The men seemed surprised, and the taller one suspicious.
"Didn't you hear us knocking, sir?"
"I'm sorry, I was in the shower."
"Who is it, Jean-Luc?"
Picard turned quite naturally to his fully dressed companion. "I
haven't gotten their names yet, Quentin."
"I'm Lt. Fred Halkins. You are Jean-Luc Picard and Quentin Jones?"
"Yes," Q said, as Picard nodded.
"We need you two to come with us, please."
"That's a rather broad statement. May we know what this is
regarding?" the captain asked.
"Some questions have been raised regarding your visit to a secure
facility yesterday, the 23rd. I must ask you and Mr. Jones to come
with us. Drs. Lancet and Steward have expressed a desire to speak
with you."
Picard and Q blinked.
"Well, why didn't you say?" Q said with a delighted grin. "We'd love
to speak to them again."
"Indeed," Picard put in, watching in satisfaction as the two men in
military costume looked vaguely taken-aback. He turned and put on his
shoes and jacket while Q gathered up his wallet and checked his hair.
Jean-Luc pocketed his room card, looked around the room once, and then
went into the hall, Q at his heels.
They spoke only bare civilities in the somberly dark and sedate car,
but the soldiers weren't rude. Q maintained an air of a ride to a
friend's house, and Picard simply remained silent. Inside, however,
he was impressed with Steward and Lancet. They had more pull in the
military than he'd supposed.
They arrived at UCLA in good time, and soon he and Q were escorted to
the same office they'd be led to the day before. This time, however,
Steward and Lancet were waiting for them. The two women waited only
until their escort retired from the room, then pounced.
"Just who the hell are you two?" Lancet demanded.
"And don't lay any more of that Greenpeace crap on us," Steward added.
"We know you're not with them," Lancet agreed. "Whatever your
credentials are - and don't get me wrong, they're impeccable but
they're bullshit - no one at Greenpeace has ever actually met you, or
knows where the hell you two came from."
"You certainly have a lot of money to throw around," Steward noted.
"This isn't about our money," Picard countered quietly.
"No, it's not." Lancet's eyes were narrow and sharp. "It's about how
you two knew just what questions to ask to rip us off!"
Picard opened his mouth and closed it. In their own way, Lancet and
Steward were right. He opened his mouth again. "I assure you, we are
from no rival corporation or government."
"Just talented amateurs?" Steward asked.
"Come on," Lancet said, pushing herself slightly forward to look down
her nose at Picard. "We know you're with *our* government, and we
want to know who sent you here."
"You said our credentials are impeccable," Q noted, and Picard almost
shivered at the quiet menace of his voice. "Why don't you just accept
their validity? There's nothing here that's been done to upset your
research, or interfere with your work."
"Is that some kind of threat?" Lancet demanded with menace of her own.
Q smiled, but there was acid in it. "Only a warning."
"Quentin," Jean-Luc said with a smile of pure diplomacy. "May I speak
with you a moment?" He stepped back against the wall with a nod at
the two women.
Q nodded himself and moved over to Picard somewhat stiffly. The
office was big enough to have a somewhat private conversation, if they
kept their voices down very low.
"Q, you're pushing all your own buttons," Jean-Luc murmured.
"Janet, calm down," Connie muttered.
Q met Picard's eyes fiercely, then in temporary resignation. He
turned with a smile that was brilliantly false, but hid no obvious
fangs. "The problem with being completely innocent is that it only
makes you look all the more guilty. If Jean-Luc and I confessed now to
a minor conspiracy, the two of you might be fobbed off, but Jean-Luc
wouldn't go for it and I don't want to have to come up with the lies
for it. I made my money on the stock exchange. I can show you my
portfolio if you like. We're trying to do something with our money
that's meaningful: Greenpeace, our recent endowment, other
philanthropic endeavors. We had thought, perhaps, to help your
project."
"Who the hell is 'we?'" Lancet snarled. Steward's eyes, however, had
gone thoughtful.
"Quentin and I," Jean-Luc said calmly, allowing himself the moment.
"We're partners."
Q's brilliant smile grew abruptly sincere.
"Partners in what?"
Picard shrugged. "Life. Or do you prefer the term 'significant
other?'"
The women blinked, then two pair of eyes went directly to the gold
ring on Picard's hand, then to the one on Q's. Steward seemed
somewhat discomfited, while Lancet looked somewhat smug.
Their suspicion, however, was not abated.
"Quentin and I have both studied physics," Picard continued. "We
recognize the overwhelming importance of your work, and we have, as
Quentin said, quite a bit of money to dispose of - our legacy to the
world. We have, of course, no children. This is what we can give."
"Our project is well-funded, Mr. Picard." Lancet's words, however,
rattled with forced hostility.
Quentin shrugged. "Yes, as we see. It was arrogance on our part to
believe you could use an extra forty million."
Picard nodded as though Q's words were wisdom handed down from Mount
Sileya itself.
"Forty million?" Steward asked. Lancet had the grace to look somewhat
non-plussed herself. That didn't, however, stop her from drawling:
"You're kidding,"
"I assure you, we had every intention of creating the endowment,"
Picard said with just slightly widened eyes. "However, I can see that
our presence here yesterday has disturbed your work."
"The very last thing we sought," Q put in with perhaps just a tad too
much remorse. Picard shot him a look, then used it to his advantage.
"I realize how this must sound to you. We've grown too complacent in
our wealth, and expect too much of the red carpet and bowing and
scraping."
"You honestly expect us to believe you two are some sort of gay Santa
Claus duo who go around the countryside -"
"Janet!" Steward snapped. "There's no cause to be rude."
But Q was there. "I should think you would find us easy to accept.
After all, one doesn't often meet a pair of lesbian lovers who are
about to change the way the whole world powers up its televisions."
Steward's eyes popped and her color went dark while Lancet evidently
swallowed a howl of laughter.
"Quentin," Jean-Luc cautioned, "perhaps they're not comfortable
discussing -"
"We're not...you think...Janet and I are not lovers!"
Lancet's mirth seemed to implode, painfully, while Steward turned from
them to grab something off a shelf. Q managed to catch Lancet's eye,
and he winked at her. She blinked back.
"Can you tell me what this is?" Steward demanded, holding up a
laminated document.
"It's your primary relay matrix," Picard answered.
"What's wrong with it?"
Picard couldn't help being impressed that she picked this one problem,
out of the many they had, to question him with. Their other
difficulties were a simple matter to him and Q, with solutions
involving 24th century techniques slightly altered with 20th century
materials. But the primary relay matrix was the key to the real
troubles, as its temperature controls simply weren't effective, and
Steward and Lancet's entire approach depended on strictly controlling
the temperature right up to the moment of fusion. Solving it was, in
fact, he and Q's biggest obstacle. However, all he said was, "I
believe that's your department."
"You told us yesterday there was something wrong with it."
"I did?"
"You asked us yesterday how we were compensating for the energy spikes
before we told you we were getting them."
"Quentin and I assumed you were having the same trouble Dr. Sam
McKinnes is having," Picard explained quietly. "You did say in your
article in *Scientific America* that you were adapting his technique."
"So that's it? We're just supposed to believe you appear with a fat
wallet and an intimate understanding of cold fusion?"
"I told you -"
"Yes! You studied!"
"What must we do to convince you?" Q asked, hands spread wide.
"I can think of forty million things, myself," Lancet announced.
"Janet!"
"There's no way these two would have the authority to throw that kind
of money at us if they're just government snoops," Lancet observed,
looking somewhat coldly now at Steward. "And besides, we could use
the money."
"We hadn't actually decided on it," Picard noted mildly.
Steward looked at him narrowly. "Meaning?"
"Could Jean-Luc and I be permitted to talk privately?"
Lancet looked ready to spit.
"I'm not leaving them alone in here," Steward announced, clearly still
struggling for composure. Picard felt a wave of sympathy for her
"You can use the washroom," Lancet said with a nod of her head at the
discreet door.
They filed in quickly, shutting the door between them and the
scientists.
"Q, I -"
The rest of Picard's thought was lost in a kiss, and he gave it
willingly. Strong arms, Q's heat, and passionate urging *seeking* him:
all this was Q, and more. He groaned and felt himself, all that he
was, seek the lover kissing him in return. He wondered dimly if he
could bring himself to object if Q threw him over the washbasin and
took him right then.
They broke for air, holding each other tightly.
"I love you," Q whispered.
"God, Q. I love you too. I want to go home and make love to you in
our bed."
Q shuddered, speaking so quietly Picard had to strain to make it out:
"We'll have to disappear."
"I know. But once, at least, in our bed, Q."
Q closed his eyes, and kissed him once more. "Yes. At least once in
our bed."
"When we get back to the hotel, let me take you in my mouth."
Q looked worried. "Jean-Luc -"
"That, or be inside me."
Q looked more worried. "I want you to enjoy what we do."
"I need you, Q."
Q wanted to speak, but ended up kissing him instead. Oh, he was all
warmth and acceptance, strength and beauty, Captain Picard and his
Jean-Luc. He felt his own hands seek the curves of the man's
backside, reveling in the freedom to touch him.
"There's so much I need to explain," Q groaned.
"Later. I love you." Picard pulled Q's head down for another kiss,
then another, rocking his hips gently against Q's, loving this, loving
him...
Q dropped to his knees.
"Q, no..." But already hands were opening the fly of his pants, and
he was, truth to be told, hard and aching. "We're...we can't do this
now..." Q's mouth went around him. "Oh, God. Q...I love you...Q..."
How could this be true? How could he be here like this?
But as Q's tongue flickered over his slit, Jean-Luc closed his eyes
and knew only his lover.
When the men emerged from the bathroom, Connie Steward noticed that
their faces were flushed and their eyes bright. *Have they been
necking in there, or snorting coke?* God, that was all she needed:
coke heads with a checkbook.
Could she and Janet have over-reacted yesterday? When they'd compared
notes on their visitors last evening, talking things over with a
little wine and cheese at Janet's immaculate apartment, it had seemed
so clear that they'd been visited by scientists in disguise, snooping
around their project for some Senator or other. When they'd put in
their late-night phone calls to their contacts at Greenpeace and come
up empty, they'd been so sure they were right.
Could these jokers just be rich gay men with degrees in physics? It
seemed ridiculous.
Why had they thought she and Janet were lovers? And why had Janet
acted so strangely over it? Janet had a kid and used to be married,
for Pete's sakes. Connie herself was single, but she'd had a long
string of boyfriends, including that dashing Dr. Vash, who still
showed up on her doorstep sometimes, showing off some new artifact
from some Egyptian dig, and sweet-talking her into bed.
She and Janet hadn't even liked each other for years. They'd only
recently even thought of each other as friends.
"Will the standard cashier's check do?" Jones asked.
Janet nodded. "It would be lovely, thank you."
"Our pleasure," Picard said, smiling at them both. He really did have
impeccable manners, and he...it was easy to trust him, which really
bothered Connie terribly. Both of the men just made all her alarms go
off.
But Janet was right. They could really use the money.
"The lieutenant will give you a ride back to your hotel," Connie said.
"We'll send a messenger with the check later today," Jones told them,
moving towards the door. Picard moved with them, and for just a
moment it was as smooth and synchronized as a dance. Connie thought,
suddenly, that both men were beautiful.
But then they were gone, and she steadied herself angrily.
Janet was already moving towards the monitor. Connie felt the same
misgivings she'd had when they set up the little camera in the
bathroom this morning. But she'd agreed to it, and Janet would throw
an unholy fit if she tried to get moral on her now. Besides, if the
men had shoveled snow in the john, she wanted to know about it.
Janet clicked the mouse and started the playback. The picture wasn't
the best quality, but clearly showed the bathroom from the tile floor
to the top of the large mirror over the sink. When the men came in,
Picard's head shone slightly, but the autofocus worked quite well.
The kiss came in sharp and clear.
The microphone hadn't been powerful enough to pick up the words the
men murmured to each other, and as the kisses continued, Connie was
about to suggest that they scan forward when Jones just fell to his
knees.
"Q, no..." Picard said clearly enough for the mic to pick up. Neither
women noticed the name, staring wide-eyed at the screen, captured by
the sight of that dark head at Picard's waist, the nimble hands
undoing his fly. There was a glimpse of skin, enough to tell them the
man wasn't circumcised, as Picard moaned, "We're...we can't do this
now..." before Jones took him completely inside his mouth.
"Oh, God. Q." Picard rocked gently, obviously losing himself in the
sensation. Q and moved his hands back to the man's butt. "I love
you...Q..."
Even over that lousy mic and through the computer's speakers, Picard's
voice was a rumbling baritone, and the passion it conveyed an erotic
recitative. The hazel eyes closed under their dark brows, but a
large, strong hand was smoothing its way carefully, delicately almost,
through Jones' dark hair. Q responded by pulling back slightly, doing
something with his mouth that made Picard shudder, before leaning in
again, taking him deeply inside.
END OF PART NINE
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
http://www.onelist.com/subscribe.cgi/ASCEML
========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 10/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:32:04 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 10/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:26:29 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Picard's perfect posture was eroding, and now the smooth head bowed,
his expression both rapture and love, his eyes open, looking down at
Jones' head as both hands combed through his hair and caressed the
sides of his face.
"I love you, Q. You're all I want. Somehow...ohhhh...you're all I've
ever wanted."
Connie realized her eyes were tearing, just slightly, and thought
dimly they needed to turn off the monitor. But she couldn't move, or
speak, or breathe. She'd never in her life seen anything like this,
and even if it damned her to hell she couldn't turn away.
One of Jones' hands had gone to his own fly, and a hard cock tumbled
out into his grasp. Picard's head was thrown back now, and his
motions were growing somewhat frantic. It was obvious he was still
holding himself back from thrusting into Jones' mouth, but the
restraint only made the scene more loving. Jones stroked himself
almost absently, intent on sucking the cock in his mouth harder and
deeper. Picard began to shudder and roughly whispered "Q!" before
slumping forward, his right hand catching the counter to steady
himself.
Jones came into his own hand quietly, and almost didn't seem to
notice. His other hand had come around to caress Picard's testes, and
now his tongue was cleaning him off while Picard murmured something
they didn't catch and tried to urge Jones to his feet. When the man
finally rose up, Picard looked distressed to see the semen on his
fingers.
"Q, why - don't you understand? I want to make you feel good too."
Janet found the quiet question devastating. She'd never known lovers
could be so starkly sincere.
"You do, Jean-Luc. More than petty Human words can express."
Picard smiled at this evident joke between them, then looked sad and
took Jones' hand in his own. The taller man gasped - Connie and Janet
did as well - when Picard's tongue came out and slowly, delicately,
licked a finger clean. Jones hissed as this treatment was applied to
his entire hand with small, eager licks accompanied with a shining
gaze from hazel eyes. When he was done, Picard placed a kiss in the
center of Jones' palm, then dropped gracefully to his knees and drew
his lover's softened cock into his own mouth, just for a moment, while
Jones made a very quiet noise that sounded a lot like a sob.
Jones took his hands and drew him back up. "We need to talk, Jean-
Luc."
"For the rest of our lives, Q."
They kissed, slowly, fiercely, parting only with overt reluctance, and
a final soft kiss on the other's lips.
"I love you." Jones said it aloud, but Picard had no need to answer
in the same fashion. His expression screamed the words back.
Then the two men straightened their posture, did up their flies,
washed their hands and faces, turned, and walked out.
For a full minute, Connie stared at the picture of the empty bathroom.
Faint voices came over the speakers: all of them talking about the
check.
She couldn't believe how aroused she was. Her nipples were hard peaks
against her sheer bra and cotton shirt, and she was wet between her
legs. She was panting, and her skin tingled.
But more than that, she was heartsore. To be loved like that. To be
wanted and needed like that...
She turned, forcing herself to meet Janet's eyes. They would have to
deal with the offense of having watched something they had no business
seeing, even if Connie were incapable of feeling any guilt about it
right that moment.
But Janet's brown eyes were already on her face, and she knew the
expression in them. She had seen it - that very same exact expression
- on Jones' face as he looked at Picard. Connie stared, and the
tingles all over her skin increased ten-fold.
"Janet?" Was that her own husky voice? What the hell?
Janet leaned towards her, and though Connie could have pulled away she
didn't. Only a second of courage was required, and then warm, strong,
skilled lips were on hers, and she knew a sweetness she had never
tasted before. Hands caressed her face, and then one smoothed back
over her scalp, and she moaned, leaning into it, her own arms coming
up around Janet's shapely body. Who knew she would feel this good in
her arms?
A hand went to her breast and caressed the hard nipple there
perfectly. There was somehow none of the groping quality to the touch
she had come to expect when men touched her breasts, though she
thought - dimly - that it was the woman herself who made the
difference, not just the fact that it was a woman.
Connie pulled back and looked into Janet's dark, glittering eyes. "I
don't know what this means, Janet."
"I only know I love you, Con. I can't explain it better than that."
She shivered at the words. To be loved by Janet. That would be
really something. Just the thought of it...softly, she put her own
hand over the hand at her breast, and encouraged another caress with a
gentle squeeze. Janet complied, and it was even better than the first
time. Connie found she was laughing.
"I have absolutely no idea what to do. What if...I don't know...I
don't want to lead you on, or...I don't know..."
Inevitably, passionately, Janet kissed her again, and Connie felt
herself melting. When Janet pulled back this time, she whimpered.
"Why don't we find out just what you like, Con?" And Janet, in one
movement, was on her knees, her fingers already having undone the
button on Connie's slacks. The woman leaned back, holding herself up
by the edge of the desk and felt the nylon caress of her slacks
sliding down to her ankles, then the almost terrifying reality of her
cotton briefs taking the same path. She shivered and bit her lip, but
Janet looked up and smiled, before leaning just slightly forward and
blowing into Connie's soft patch of hair. "Don't be afraid," she
whispered. "I promise."
Connie wanted to reach out and touch Janet's face, but if she let go
of the desk she'd fall. She closed her eyes instead, slid one foot
out of her shoe, pants, and panties, then leaned back against the desk
as she parted her legs, and trusted.
~~~//~~~
When they got back to their hotel room, they packed, checked out, got
a limo to take them across town, and checked into the Bonaventure. Q
got online and arranged for the cashier's check, as well as the
messenger, while Picard ordered sandwiches. They ate quickly, set the
tray (which they had carefully examined) outside, closed and locked
the door, put classical music on the radio, and took off their
clothes.
Picard waited for Q to get his last sock clear of his foot, then moved
in to take him close, pressing his ear to Q's chest to feel his heart,
closing his eyes as he was encircled by warm arms.
"Explain it to me," he said at last.
"Let me suck you first."
"Only if you promise not to come before I can please you."
When Q didn't answer, Picard looked up into his lover's anxious eyes.
"I don't think I could promise that, Jean-Luc."
The man smiled slyly. "We could...please each other, Q."
Q's eyes closed, and the tall form swayed. Picard smiled and pressed
his erection into Q's flank, enjoying the hard poke into his own
belly. Lips played along the curve of his ear, but Q's voice was
desperate.
"We need to talk first, then, Jean-Luc."
He kissed Q's lips lightly, then backed off and led him by the hand to
the bed. They'd gotten a king size, and the room was quite grand, so
the walk took awhile, especially as they stopped every few steps,
lightly kissing and caressing.
In bed, Picard had to remind himself not to turn around and snuggle
back against Q, instead choosing to lie on his side, propping his head
on a fist. Q mirrored him, though he wedged a pillow under his head
instead, and reached out to trace the curves and angles of his lover's
face.
"When the Q were...new, we experimented. Quite a lot. On each
other."
"Sexually?"
"The Q are way beyond sex...or, we were. Q, I mean, we...damn. That
didn't come out right." Penitently, Q lowered his head and kissed the
nipple near Jean-Luc's heart. Picard almost told him to suck him off
and then talk. "We shared our consciousnesses, and in so doing, we
discovered ways of giving ourselves permanently to each other. But it
wasn't sexual in that it wasn't designed in any way to be procreative.
In fact, it had the opposite effect."
"Meaning?"
"Well, some Qs who did this never unjoined, and eventually our numbers
declined. Where there had been two lonely Qs, now there was one very
happy Q...at least until that joining wasn't enough, and another one
took place."
"I can see how this would be alarming for the Continuum."
Q nodded. "So we established rules, and we enforced them. We
invented what you may as well call 'Q marriages.' And they had a time
limit of...in Human terms, about a million and a half years. The two
parties were then forced to separate. I'm afraid...it did get a
little ugly at first, but then we all got used to it. As you might
think, after the first half-billion years of our existence, we had all
married each other at least once. At the end of the first billion
years, we'd all stopped getting married."
"To marry you would fuse with each other?"
"Sort of...perhaps that does better from your perspective than
'marriage.' But the technique involved actually relies on ingestion."
"You ate each other?"
"Now you're getting the idea." Q smiled, and shrugged. "We would
take in a small part of each other's emotional essence, and in so
doing hold that piece of them inside."
Picard smiled slightly. "I think I see where this is going."
"Yes. Towards the end of the whole marriage era, we were all getting
a little inventive, if not downright perverse, about the ceremony. We
began to join with each other in various guises -- as Amanda's parents
did, as Humans. It was agreed that analogous acts performed via non-Q
lifeforms still counted as official marriages."
"So a blow-job means we're husband and wife?" Picard's eyes twinkled,
and Q felt himself relax, profoundly, deep inside.
"Well, we Q never really changed the marriage laws. We just stopped
using them, for the most part, anyway. So, yes...or rather, I'm
married to you. You're not married to me, not yet."
"Would they still force us to part after a million and a half years?"
"I'd die with you first, Jean-Luc."
Picard knew, absolutely, that Q meant that. He had the experience
which granted such statements easy sincerity. The Human felt awash in
shame, for though he welcomed the ideas both of eternity and death
with Q, he was unable to offer anything in return but mortal
hyperbole.
So instead Jean-Luc put his hand on Q's shoulder and pushed, rolling
him over onto his back before he lay himself down between Q's legs.
For the first time, Q didn't resist, laying his arms quietly on the
comforter, moving his legs apart to accommodate Picard's body. Jean-
Luc smiled and ran a hand along Q's stomach, enjoying the tender feel
of skin there, the tickle of soft hairs, the indentation of his navel.
He leaned down and licked, slowly, up and along the inside of Q's left
thigh. Q's cock twitched while the long body shivered, and Jean-Luc
licked next at Q's right thigh. They hadn't showered, and the taste
of Q's sweat was strong and spicy...oddly pleasant, highly erotic, and
suddenly Picard couldn't wait to fill his mouth again with Q's cock.
He nuzzled only briefly, then, the warm sac, nudging the testes with
his tongue, delighting in Q's moans. A long lick along the underside
of the shaft brought him to the incredible softness of Q's glans,
protruding now proudly from the foreskin, the slit slick and shiny and
bittersweet on his tongue.
"Jean-Luc...ohhhh...yessss."
Picard raised his head, and after a moment Q forced open his eyes,
asking the silent question.
"With my body, Q," the man rumbled, "I thee worship."
And he took Q inside his mouth.
Q wanted to keep watching. Surely even in his life he'd never seen
anything to compare with his Human cock smoothly disappearing inside
Jean-Luc's eloquent lips? But the sensation of heat and the knowledge
of what was happening was too much to bear with sanity. His eyes
closed even as his mouth opened with a groan and it was all he could
do to hold on to the soft fabric under his hands and *somehow* keep
from thrusting up. Warmth on his hips - Jean-Luc's hands - helped to
restrain him, but when the rim of Picard's mouth slid along the sides
of his cock, pushing back the foreskin, caressing him with the softest
scrape of a tongue on that feather-soft skin, Q began to convulse. In
a moment, with a hot rush and that unique explosion of pleasure that
was almost pain, it was over.
Q struggled, trying to raise his head, open his eyes. He needed to
see.
And Jean-Luc was watching him, waiting for those dark eyes to fix on
him, before he swallowed, his expression as solemn as it had ever been
while performing an alien ritual of importance, his eyes conveying
nevertheless the love that Q had so long and so deeply desired.
"Are you still hard?" Q croaked.
A slight smile, and the deep rumble: "Only because I could not suffer
the distraction." He raised up to reveal his swollen, shiny cockhead.
Q took a breath, held it, and then drew his legs back slightly, and
further apart. "Well, Jean-Luc. Now that we're married..."
Picard's eyelids actually fluttered, and his wet lips opened in a
gasp.
"Do you want that, Q?"
Q smiled. "To be filled by you, Jean-Luc? To know you want me that
way? To bind you to me this way...one more way...any way...Of course
I want it."
Picard shivered. "God, Q. Just the thought of it." His eyes shone
as he looked over Q's body. "You should turn on your side."
"I want to watch you."
"We need lubricant."
Q chuckled. "The first-aid kit."
Picard nodded, but then lay himself softly down over Q's body. His
lips met his lover's, and for a long moment they did nothing but kiss,
not even going inside each other that way, pressing gently to the
other.
"This is my life now," Jean-Luc murmured. "Making love to you.
Loving you."
"Being loved by me, Jean-Luc."
The man smiled, then almost seemed to growl, or purr, as Q's hand
caressed his scalp, exploring, soothing. "I am sorry for every moment
you believed I did not love you."
"For years you didn't."
"Miracles can take a while to happen," Picard said, his eyes laughing
at his own words, and yet, they were sincerely spoken.
Q raised an eyebrow. "It's a miracle that you love me, then?"
"It's a miracle that I can be here with you like this. A miracle that
we've managed to find each other and what we can be together."
Q smiled somewhat absently. "Not such a miracle, so I've been told."
"What does that mean?"
"It's a long story. Perhaps for another night."
Picard's eyes narrowed, but he placed a small kiss on Q's nose before
rising from the bed and going into the bathroom. The first-aid kit
seemed to have gained even more items since he'd last looked at it,
and with a smile, he took two before he returned to the bedroom.
And stood, for a moment, looking at Q lying naked on his back, waiting
for him.
Q smiled, especially as his eyes glittered at the hard cock Picard
sported, then his eyes returned to the man's face, and he looked just
a little worried.
"What?"
"You're lovely, Q."
The entity stretched, languidly, but Picard saw the joy on his face.
His voice, however, was sheer challenge. "Then come over here and get
it."
But Picard approached slowly, and settled on the bed near Q's feet.
"There's something I've been wanting to do to you for awhile."
"Oh?"
Jean-Luc nodded, and smoothed some of the cream onto his fingers. Q
sniffed, and then, to the man's surprise, moaned softly and grew
rather obviously aroused. At Picard's look, Q confessed:
"I've had similar thoughts."
He smiled, and warmed the cream slightly between his hands before he
reached for Q's closest foot, rubbing the Ben-Gay into his arch, then
into the ball of his foot.
Q gasped. "How - how did you know?"
"I've seen you wincing and rubbing at your feet often enough, Q. I
suppose omnipotent entities aren't used to walking."
Q started to tremble, and an expression almost of sorrow formed on his
face.
"Q?" Picard grew still.
"Don't stop, Jean-Luc. I just...I love you. You don't know how
much."
Picard reached gently down and kissed the inside of Q's ankle. "I
love you, Q. You don't know how much."
They didn't speak for a time after that, though Q made many sounds of
pleasure as the captain's hands soothed away weeks' of ache in the
muscles of his feet and legs. When Picard urged him to turn over, he
did so with a sigh of bliss, hissing as that cold-hot sensation was
massaged into his shoulders, his back - oh, that felt so damn good -
and his arms.
Picard made sure there was not a trace of the ointment left on his
hands when he moved to Q's backside, covering his fingers instead with
the simple lubricant. Q's ass had gained a little definition with all
his running, but it was hardly jutting or globed. It was...uniquely
Q's body, a little broad, infinitely sweet, and warm to his touch.
Q had long since done nothing to resist him, even unconsciously, and
the muscles under Picard's hands were almost completely relaxed. When
he used a finger to caress between Q's cheeks, the long body shivered
again, and Q sighed.
"Yes. Do it," the entity mumbled. "Feels good."
Holding a shallow breath, Picard gently but firmly slid his finger
inside Q, and both of them gasped. Q was so *hot* inside, and tight.
Jean-Luc bit his lip. "Q, are you sure you...when you made your Human
body to be here, are you sure you can do this? You're so tight."
Q laughed, a sloppy, almost drugged chuckle. "Oh, yeah. You can fuck
me, lover."
Picard felt his cock pulse. He'd only kept himself from coming all
this while with the promise of what it would be like to be inside Q,
and now that that reality was approaching, the promise itself was
almost too erotic to withstand.
He moved his finger in and out, and found in time that he could add
another, one from each hand, pulling at the sides of Q's anus just a
bit each time. One, then the other, then both...Q was groaning and
thrusting into the bedspread.
"Hurry up. Do it. I need you in there. Fuck me. Now! Now, damnit.
Hurry up..."
Q held three fingers before Picard shifted position, withdrawing his
hands from Q's anus and slathering his cock with lubricant. He almost
came in his own hands, steadied himself with a deep breath, and then
another.
"Jean-Luc?"
"Yes, Q?"
"Put a pillow under my hips, please."
Picard nodded at the back of Q's head, faltered for a moment before he
remembered the pillows were right there at the top of the bed, grabbed
one from under the comforter, and put it where Q needed it.
Q sighed, and seemed to relax even more.
"Now, Jean-Luc."
"Yes, Q."
Jean-Luc leaned forward, putting the weight of his upper body on his
right hand while his left one guided his oiled cock to the opening he
had prepared, then slid, slowly, inside.
It was hot, and tight, and smooth, and made for his cock, and heaven,
and fire, and music, and he was so close to Q this, so undeniably
inside Q's body. With both hands holding him up now, he soared,
floating, fucking Q...
When Q moved back against the pressure inside him, he expected Jean-
Luc to start pumping him, and almost protested when instead the man
rocked with him. Hands were smoothing over his hips, and then the
pressure inside increased as Jean-Luc moved to cover him completely,
settling over his back, pressing their legs and arms together. Lips
kissed his back, and he felt a soft cheek laid between his shoulder
blades. Then Picard didn't move at all, and Q wondered if he would
break to pieces from the force of a stray breeze.
"You see?" Q whispered. "You fit."
"Do the Q have something equivalent to this as well?"
Q sighed in relief at that strong, steady, if somewhat dreamy voice.
Whatever Jean-Luc was doing, he was enjoying it.
"Yes. We call it 'fucking.'"
Jean-Luc chuckled. "I'd call this making love, myself."
"That too."
More soft kisses on his black, and Q thought he might start screaming.
He was so hard it hurt, and he thought the pressure in his body was
going to send him into spasms any minute.
*You're not five billion years old for nothing. If this is what he
wants, give it to him!*
But what did Jean-Luc want? What the hell was he waiting for?
For that moment, it seemed. The pressure inside him eased slightly,
then pulsed, and Q groaned into the bed, and the force with the next
thrust increased. Slightly harder, then slightly harder again, and Q
was making noise constantly. Despite the lubricant, there was
friction inside him, and it burned into waves of sparks, each one a
thrill down along his nerves to each finger and toe and the ends of
his hair. He moved back without coordination, but Jean-Luc's rhythm
was perfect, glorious...all he wanted.
"God, I love you, Q."
Q screamed and tried to get himself in rhythm now, moving back and
forth, loving the connection, the pressure, the small grunts Jean-Luc
was making - everything was just so *there* and it built up and up
until, unable to help it, he came hard, dizzy with it, moaning with
the little strength he had left as liquid heat filled him.
Jean-Luc felt Q come, and thrust harder, wanting to join him, wanting
to touch him this way as well. But his body was already there,
already coming inside his lover, the one he had finally found, the one
who wanted all that he was, all that he wanted, freely, to give.
And Q took that, and more, and they lay together a long, long time,
aware of nothing but the other. When eventually Jean-Luc had to move,
they took each other in their arms, and held on, not speaking, not
needing to speak, drifting in and out of sleep no more or less
peaceful than waking and knowing the other was there.
It was a testament to the hotel that when they ordered a snack at
three in the morning, they receiving nothing but the politest,
promptest service. Once the tray was again outside, and they had moved
the plates to the bed, curled around them while remaining within
kissing distance, Jean-Luc fed Q a forkful of his crab salad, kissed
mayonnaise-flavored lips, and urged him gently:
"You said it was a long story?"
Q nodded and drank from his wineglass. "And I don't think it's a true
one, either. Although, you should know, Q thought it was
true...probably still does, poor thing."
Jean-Luc simply waited. He doubted whether he could feel impatience
at that moment with anyone or anything in the universe. There
thrummed just beneath his skin a warm awareness of joy that made
everything else a response which could be welcomed or
ignored...everything except Q, the sight of whom fueled and directed
each sensation of his body.
END OF PART TEN
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 11/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:33:01 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 11/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:26:38 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
"You mean the Q of this other universe, the one who created the tear
in the time-space continuum?"
"Yeah, him."
Jean-Luc touched Q's mouth with his fingertips, and received several
kisses on them for his trouble.
"He was looking for his Jean-Luc," Q murmured.
"His Jean-Luc?"
"Yes. He was in love with him, you see, in his own universe, but that
Picard didn't love him back. He thought there must have been some
sort of mix-up, and was looking for the Jean-Luc he felt he was
supposed to be getting."
Picard frowned. He wanted to put his question lightly, but avoid
offending Q. "He didn't think perhaps he was just unlucky?"
"Well, no." Q plucked a strawberry from the fruit plate and brought
it Jean-Luc's lips, watching as that expressive mouth sucked the fruit
inside, then chewed it slowly. "He had this theory about the need for
all the Qs in all the universes to have a 'significant' relationship
with all the Picards: a universal constant."
"So you and I are destined to be together?" Jean-Luc smiled and
brought a grape to Q's lips, sighing slightly when his fingertips were
nibbled.
"Hmmm. Actually, he told me a story...several stories,
actually...about the Qs and Picards he'd seen on his travels. But
this story is my favorite."
"Hmm?"
"Well, one of my favorites. As you can imagine, he and I got along
pretty well."
Picard laughed and kissed Q, losing himself in that warm mouth for a
time. A hot hand touched his penis softly, a caress meant only to be
tender, and he shivered with a gasp.
Q withdrew suddenly, smiling. "Need a bit more time, do we?"
Picard acknowledged with a small shrug. "If you want me to be
responsive..."
Q's eyes closed suddenly, and his color went slightly dark. "One day
soon I'll make love to you when you're all tuckered out, and can't do
anything but enjoy it."
Jean-Luc felt his smile settle comfortably into his face. "You
thinking of being inside me, Q?"
Q looked ready to moan, but settled for smiling back himself. "We are
inside each other, Jean-Luc, remember?"
"Tell your story." The man lay back on the bed, his arms behind his
head, and stared lazily into the dark, beloved face.
"Well, from what I understand, there's this universe where Jean-Luc
Picard is a fashion model."
Picard closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, but he didn't
interrupt.
"From what Q said, I gather this Picard basically humped anything in
pants. The ultimate party boy. This is about...oh, the very early
22nd century on Earth, so he was safe enough from social diseases and,
of course, inadvertent pregnancies, but emotionally, he was something
of a wreck. He wasn't a super-model, if you can believe it, but he
made a good enough living to support his somewhat decadent lifestyle.
"He wasn't what anyone would call unhappy, and he had a lot of
friends. Real friends. People who cared about him. He was burning
the candle at both ends, but he wasn't really interested in living
past the day when his ass started to sag -"
"Are you certain you're not making this up, Q?"
Q made a shushing gesture. "And he had the sense to stay away from
drugs. So though he played the field like a one-man rugby team, he
was doing all right...physically. Only inside was he feeling ever
more desperate and despairing." Q paused and seemed slightly troubled
by his own story. Picard reached up for a quick kiss.
"Jean-Luc, who was only known in the trade by his first name, had had
a rather cold relationship with his father and older brother. His
mother had died when he was nine years old, and his father...well,
let's just say that even in the 22nd century certain fathers couldn't
tolerate the idea of queer sons. Jean-Luc was on his own by fifteen,
and basically sold his ass to get into the modeling business."
"So he thought his looks were all he had?"
"Uh huh."
Picard thought for a moment, while Q admired the dark brows drawn
together. "I can't say I see much similarity between this fashion
model and myself, Q."
"Patience, Jean-Luc. Now, one day he's just a little strapped for
cash - all that partying does take a toll on the wallet, you know -
and so he takes a gig for a lot of money that's really not what he
should be doing." Q settled his body slightly on the bed, and Jean-
Luc was quietly awed by how much the simple play of light over the
entity's skin affected him. "So he takes this job for a high salary
where he's going to jump out of a cake for this Japanese big-wig who
has an eye for the boys. It's firmly understood that all he's going
to do is jump out of the cake, sign some autographs, and take a few
party shots with no nudity. After all, there will be some wives at
the party, and the kids will be in the next room, and all that."
"Are you about to tell me that in this universe you're Japanese?"
"No, and stop trying to jump to the end. Jean-Luc takes the job, and
he's waiting there in the kitchen, and he's feeling that this is
pretty much the end of things. A few more shoots, and then maybe some
sleeping pills, like Marilyn. Or perhaps a scarf, like Isadora
Duncan. And you must understand, he's not even sad about it. He
figures he's had a good life, a fun ride. And dying was just so much
easier than learning how to be an old queen."
Picard began to realize why this sounded just a little familiar.
"So out he goes in the cake, and he sits in the birthday boy's lap and
poses for some shots, drinks some champagne, keeps a smile plastered
on his face. Somewhere along the line he gets drunker than usual, and
he vaguely remembers later that there was this military guy whose hat
he grabbed and wore, and that this struck everyone as just incredibly
amusing.
"The next morning he wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, which is hardly a
first for Jean-Luc. The only thing strange is that his ass doesn't
hurt. In fact, he's not sure he had sex at all. There's no taste in
his mouth, no semen in the nice clean bed. He realizes he still has
his party clothes on.
"He also realizes the room is swaying, just a bit. He decides he's
hungover and gets up to stagger his way to the john. In the little
room, he doesn't look in the mirror, and while he's taking his piss
he's holding his cock and thinking about how fucking pointless
everything is. It's really quite tragic, Johnny."
"You know I'm agog, Q. Go on."
"So he comes out of the can and decides not to get back in bed. He's
hungry, and he'd like a cigarette. But then he finds that the door to
his room is locked. This pisses him off, and he starts pounding on
the door and cussing loudly and the whole tantrum's in high gear when
suddenly the door opens and there is...can you guess who?"
"The military man whose hat he stole."
Q smiled, brilliantly, and leaned in for a satisfyingly deep and
passionate smooch. Picard, however, pulled back. "I want to hear the
whole thing now, Q."
Q sighed, then lay back so they could look at each other comfortably,
and began:
~~~//~~~
Jean-Luc didn't realize at first that this was the military man,
because the tall, dark, incredibly handsome man was in his civilian
clothes.
"What do you mean by locking me in here?" Jean-Luc demanded.
"I just wanted to make sure we talked before you went walking about
the ship," the tall, dark, incredibly handsome man answered.
"Ship?" Jean-Luc demanded. "What ship? And who the devil are you?"
"Captain Jones, Quentin Jones. We met last night."
Jean-Luc scowled at him. "I need a cigarette."
"I don't carry them aboard, I'm afraid. You'll have to make do with
coffee."
"Where is it?"
"In the galley. If you'll follow me..."
Jean-Luc followed Quentin in silence, looking around at the very clean
yacht, and in the galley the captain poured them both cups of coffee.
Jean-Luc sat down to drink his, and then scowled up at the clock. It
was almost noon.
"When are we getting to shore? I need to use your phone."
"No."
"No?" Jean-Luc scowled at Quentin now. "No to what?"
"No, we're not going to shore. No, you cannot use the phone."
"Why the hell not?"
"You're not going to use the phone, you're not going to get on the
radio, you're not going to call your agent or your dealer. You're not
going to pose for pictures. You're not going to jump out of the
cake."
"Look, 'Captain,' if you think for one moment -"
"You're the one who needs to do some thinking. A lot of it. And
this, I assure you, is the place."
Jean-Luc looked around the small galley, noticing again how clean
everything was. There must be quite a staff here, constantly
polishing and washing things down. He could use with a wash himself,
he thought. His black leather pants were sour with sweat, and his
black tank top stank of stale beer.
And then faintly he smelled the salt of the sea. It soothed him, and
that really pissed him off. He glared now at Jones, and set down his
coffee cup.
"I don't know what you think you're doing, but -"
"Intervention."
"What?"
"Intervention. This is. An intervention."
"You're joking."
Jones shook his head slowly, his intent brown eyes never leaving Jean-
Luc's face. "You're going to stay on this ship until you figure
things out."
"You can't just -"
"I assure you I can. We've got all the supplies we need for quite a
while, and I'm afraid you won't find any of my crew willing to go
against my orders. As far as they're concerned you're a troubled
friend under my care."
Suddenly, Jean-Luc smiled, a hard, knowing smile, and he leaned back
as his hooded hazel eyes traveled slowly over the expanse of the tall
man before him. Dark eyes, dark hair just slightly tinged with gray at
the temples, a tall body, well-built, and though he stood with
military discipline his form radiated energy. His full lips were
sensual, and expressive, and his nose was big only to keep up with the
rest of his face. He was a strange cross between odd-looking and just
really sexy, and Jean-Luc's smile curled out to show teeth as he put
his hands on his black-leather-clad hips.
"There's no need to get so elaborate," he sad quietly. "It's really
not that difficult to get my attention."
"Mr. Picard, I assure you -"
"If you're going to fuck me here in your galley," Jean-Luc purred,
"please feel free to use my first name." He swayed forward, titling
his head back, wetting his lips. "And you know the best part? I'll
be just as good as you thought I'd be."
Captain Jones raised an eyebrow. "This isn't about that."
"No?" Another smile. "And why not?"
"For one thing, I'm not homosexual."
Jean-Luc frowned at him, then snorted. "Why would a perfect stranger
kidnap me and whisk me off on his private yacht if his intentions were
so honorable?"
"Because I'd rather try to help you than kill you."
The compact body seemed to freeze.
"Don't you remember that, Mr. Picard? Don't you remember offering me
$20,000, your salary for jumping out of the cake, I believe, if I
would take my military-issue, nickel-plated sidearm from my holster
and shoot you in the head?"
Jean-Luc licked his lips again, then squared his shoulders. He did,
rather horrifyingly, remember. "I don't care what I said in a drunken
stupor. This isn't legal, and I want you to take me back..." The
word "home" just wouldn't come to his lips. "...where I belong."
"This is where you belong. For now." Jones stepped back. "Feel free
to walk about the ship. The lifeboats are locked down. My crew do
have orders to restrain you if you pose a danger to yourself or to
others. There's some bread here in this cupboard if you want to make
toast. I'll see you at lunch."
And with a nod, the captain turned and walked out of the small room.
Jean-Luc stood resolutely for a moment, then sat down and held his
head.
He really needed a cigarette.
In the end, he went back to his room down the hall and lay on the bed.
After awhile, he slept, and when he woke up his head was pounding and
his hands were shaking.
*I'm dying.*
Someone knocked on the door.
"Go away unless you've got a cigarette."
The door opened, and Jones came in, holding a glass of tomato juice.
Jean-Luc glared at him, though he knew the juice would make him feel
better. Jones looked at his expression, set the glass on the
nightstand, and left.
Jean-Luc drank the glassful off in one go, burped, fell back to the
bed, and slept like the dead.
A light touch on his wrist pulled him from sleep hours later, but in
the dim room he saw only long red hair and a sweetly curved mouth.
"What?" he rasped.
"Just checking your pulse. And I think you should drink some of
this."
The woman pressed a glass of something warm to his lips, and,
surrendering, he drank down the salty, meaty broth. It felt wonderful
going down, and settled quietly into his stomach.
She touched his forehead, and her cool hand felt like an angel's.
"I need a shower," he whispered, apologizing.
"Shh. In the morning."
He nodded and closed his eyes.
~~~//~~~
Q left off the story. His own Jean-Luc was nodding off, and he'd
grown quite sleepy himself. He leaned down for a kiss, then settled
down beside that warm, strong body, and left himself drift off. Four
hours later they had awoken, showered, packed, and vacated the hotel.
There was only the question of how to get back to New Orleans.
"Q," Picard said reasonably as they tucked into omelets and fruit
salad in a widow-ringed restaurant on PCH, "the longer we take to get
back to the warehouse, the more possibility that they will have
started to nose around. We have to get the equipment out of there as
soon as we can."
"I'm not going up in another plane, Jean-Luc. Forget it. We'll drive
day and night to get back. It will take two days."
"Driving through the night is more dangerous than a thousand plane
rides. We're much safer in a plane than a car."
"No. This is not open to negotiation. At worst, in two days they'll
have made some routine observation of our place. They can't get in
without setting off the alarm, and if the alarm doesn't scare them
off, then the charges will go and we won't have to get back there
anyway."
Picard drained his coffee cup, then watched as their actor-wanna-be
waiter refilled it.
"We'll be harder to trace in a car, especially as we'll be using our
back-up credit cards," Q pointed out when they were alone again. "For
all we know if we flew we could land in Louisiana and be greeted by
the feds."
"That seems an unlikely scenario, Q." But he knew he was giving in,
not to Q's argument, but simply to Q.
Q sensed it as well, and let the comment pass. Picard sighed.
"All right. But let's make sure we buy something with an automatic
transmission."
"How about something with a huge backseat?"
Picard frowned, then rolled his eyes. "You're the one who couldn't
get out of the hotel fast enough this morning."
"I just kept having this vision of them breaking down our door right
when we got to the good part."
Picard smiled and set his cup down. Then looked at Q.
"What?"
"I just...have difficulty believing I can be like this with you. That
you can feel so comfortable to me."
"Comfortable?" Q looked slightly offended.
Jean-Luc wasn't fooled. "You know how long it takes me to relax
around other people. I never thought the judge of the 21st century
court of horrors would make a good breakfast companion."
Q looked ready to reply, then snapped his mouth shut.
"What?"
Q looked reluctant, then spoke with obviously careful phrasing, "I
wouldn't want you to feel you have to give up your breakfasts
with...Beverly."
"You won't mind her joining us, then?"
For an instant, Q looked so touched as to be almost shattered, then
rallied with a quick look around. "I suppose I could get used to
medical talk over coffee and croissants."
Picard smiled. "Q, there is still a chance we can figure out some way
to stay in this world at least for a time. I did like that idea of
yours, buying an island somewhere."
"That sort of show of money and autonomy would have the feds coming
after us in no time."
"Then perhaps somewhere quiet, after faking our deaths...a small
apartment in the middle of Portland, or Kalamazoo."
"You'd do that?"
"To be with you? Of course."
Q frowned deeply. "The idea of the danger you're in here...it's too
selfish of me to want to stay."
"I can decide my own acceptable level of danger, Q. And you know
yourself our relationship is in danger in our own world." Picard
smiled grimly at the look on Q's face. "Do you think I don't know
that the Continuum will be all over us? And as for what my crew will
say when I tell them we're lovers...there's a chance Starfleet will
ask me to end the relationship. I say no, they park me behind a desk,
you end up feeling guilty, and I feel resentful, and even though we
stay together both of us worry that it's ruined."
"Is that what you think will happen?"
"I have a hundred scenarios in my head, Q, and you have doubtlessly
many more." Hazel eyes pierced him. "What's your nightmare?"
Q had the look of a man confessing to murder, but he told Picard in
some detail his last encounter with Captain Janeway, explaining his
desire for a child to bring a new age to the Continuum. To his
relief, Picard didn't seem to feel threatened by any of it, though he
didn't seem particularly pleased to hear Q's recounting of the manner
in which his son had basically become community property.
"There will doubtlessly be many more children of the Continuum in
time," Q said. "Whatever happens, it will all mean a great change,
and now..."
"Now?" Picard signaled for the check.
"And now I have no idea what they will think about you. They could
try to take you from me a thousand different ways. I'll die before
I'll let that happen, but...no one Q can stand up to the Continuum,
Jean-Luc...whatever Q says."
Somehow, Picard knew Q was referring to the Q who had come through
from the other universe, but he refused to be distracted.
"Do you think it more likely they will object than that they will
accept our relationship?"
Q reached for his wallet and set his regular platinum card on the
table. "I don't know."
"I'd rather stay here and be with you, Q, than be 'safe.'"
Q looked at him, not even glancing up as the waiter walked by and
scooped up his card.
"Then we'll stay," the entity announced.
"We could always move to Switzerland."
Q made a face. "I hate snow."
~~~//~~~
They drove the rental car to San Diego, then bought a silver Toyota
Camry with automatic transmission, CD player, anti-lock breaks and
tinted windows under the name "Herman Lewis." Q got them an extremely
normal-looking five-year financing and even managed to set up an
online account that would make the payments for them. Picard
meanwhile turned in the rental and checked them in for a pre-paid one-
week stay at the Hilton. He walked over a mile before catching a taxi
and meeting Q back at the car lot, and by then he wore a baseball cap
and sunglasses.
They were on the I-10 before mid-afternoon.
Picard folded back the map neatly and wedged it down into the pocket
of the car door. There wasn't much to navigate, since they had no
need to avoid the interstate. Basically, it was a straight shot back
to New Orleans.
So he was surprised when Q, who had spoken little since they began the
drive, asked him how far it was to the next reststop.
Picard got the map back into his hands. "Fifteen miles."
"Does it have picnic tables?"
Eyebrows raised, Picard checked. "Yes."
Q nodded, then shot a look sideways that made Picard's red alert start
to sound.
"Would you do something for me, Jean-Luc?"
"In all likelihood."
"Would you take your shirt off?"
"Here in the car?"
"I got tinted windows."
Picard smiled, though he felt more than a little awkward. "I did
wonder about that."
Q waited a moment while Picard sat there, then sighed. "Well, not if
you don't want to, of course."
Jean-Luc sat forward, reached around, and drew his buttoned, dark-blue
shirt out of his black trousers, then unbuttoned the front and
shrugged out of it. The road was straight and there wasn't much
traffic this far out. Q didn't take his eyes from the road for long,
but he made good use of the time he spent looking at Picard's body.
"Thank you, Jean-Luc."
They didn't speak again until Q turned off for the rest stop, and even
then they only murmured as they found a shady spot in which to park,
well-removed from the toilets and the line of parked trucks.
END OF PART ELEVEN
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 12/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:35:13 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 12/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:26:50 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Q's hands were immediately on Jean-Luc's chest, stroking through his
hair, caressing his nipples. They leaned forward for their kiss, and
seemed to meld together, groaning into the other's mouth. Q dragged
his mouth away and down, but Jean-Luc caught his head in his hands and
shook his own.
"No, Q. Not like that. I want to suck you too."
Q shuddered as his hands fell to Picard's lap, undoing his fly.
"God, Q. I wish you could be inside me."
That made Q's hands freeze, if only for a moment. Picard took the
opportunity to swing his legs around, folding them up against the car
seat and putting his head in Q's lap. Q was reaching over now, and
turning his hips, getting Jean-Luc free of his pants even as the man
was releasing Q's erection. In another moment, they both had taken
the other's cock deeply inside.
And for a moment, they simply held the other there, not sucking, not
stroking, relaxing as their urgency eased for a heartbeat or two with
the satisfaction of being connected. Jean-Luc wanted to say that he
loved Q, but couldn't make himself let go. Instead, he brought his
hand under Q's shirt and stroked his stomach as he began, delicately,
to suck.
Q moaned around his penis, and the reverberation went all through him,
laying down the path for the fire that followed. His legs bucked
against the door as Q took him deeper inside, sucking hard, devouring
him while he worked to give Q all the pleasure he could, until, as
with so many things between them, it became a contest. Picard
caressed Q's sensitive nipples with great care even as he took the hot
cock in his mouth so deeply he knew any attempt to breathe would choke
him. Q cupped the soft sac so near to his lips, shifting the weight
of the testes in time to his hot, pumping mouth. They struggled
together, to win not over the other, but over their need to release
the other, to throw back their head and scream and come hard inside
their lover's heat.
Jean-Luc eased back, breathing in the smell of Q's arousal, and felt
faint. Just as he had wished, he was drowning in Q, in visions of
being with Q, in knowing that Q was drowning too. He gasped for
breath and felt Q's cock pulse in his hand a second before he shot
over them both with a confined convulsion of his whole long,
shuddering body. Jean-Luc screamed and emptied himself, feeling his
lover drain him in luscious suckling that made him wish, incoherently,
that he could be emptied completely into Q, that they could stop the
nonsense of not being the same person and exist as they were meant to.
Then his head fell back against Q's thigh, and there was only warmth
and belonging
~~~//~~~
"So Jean-Luc slept through his first day there."
Q nodded, his hands easy on the wheel as he drove at exactly 65 mph in
the right-hand lane.
"Right."
~~~//~~~
Jean-Luc's second day on the yacht wasn't much different from his
first. He took a shower, and ate two meals in his bed, waited on by a
thin, pale-looking man who answered none of his questions in the
politest manner possible. He thought about getting up for a walk
around the ship in what was probably the afternoon, but it was too
tempting to stay in the cool, clean bed - someone had changed the
sheets while he was in the shower - and just rest.
The third day he got up with determination. This had been lovely, and
there was no denying he felt much better, but he'd been here long
enough. He thought he had a shoot that weekend, and his answering
machine was probably refusing to record any more messages. He found
some sweats and a T-shirt in the closet and pulled them on, feeling a
little sexy without underwear, and definitely in the mood for hot
coffee and a cigarette.
When he opened the door, however, he stood face-to-chest with one of
the largest men he'd ever seen.
After a moment, he realized that the man wasn't so large. His
presence was simply huge, with dark, gleaming skin, fierce eyes, and
natural scowl. His crossed arms loosened as though reluctantly from
the broad chest as he took a breath prior to speaking.
"I am to accompany you to the galley."
Jean-Luc nodded, then cleared his throat. "Do you have a cigarette?"
The tall man very slightly growled. "No, I do not."
Picard let himself strike the "gay shrug," to no effect, then gave up
and walked down the hall to the galley.
Captain Jones was reading over some charts or something and drinking
coffee. He looked up with a polite smile. "Good morning, Mr. Picard."
"Okay, that's a good place to start. My name is Jean-Luc. Plain,
simple, Jean-Luc."
Jones shrugged. "If you like. There's coffee and toast made, and the
cook will get you whatever else you like...except for cigarettes."
Jean-Luc's mouth closed.
"We have none aboard."
"I've been smoking since I was fourteen."
"Congratulations."
"I don't need you or anyone else to order me about!"
"I don't recall giving you an order."
"I don't want to be here!"
"That much is clear."
Jean-Luc thought about throwing something. "You can't do this to me!"
"When someone tries to hire me to kill them, I feel that does give me
some degree of responsibility towards them."
"I was drunk."
"That did not seem to be an unusual state with you."
"You know nothing about my life."
"True."
Jean-Luc almost tripped, though he was standing quite still, his hands
on his hips, his chin high. Jones' quiet admission seemed to make the
floor jerk slightly.
"I believe you really do need to eat something," the captain said
quietly.
With a snarl to hide his confusion, Jean-Luc sat in the available
chair. "Eggs," he muttered. "Scrambled. And toast with no butter."
Jones nodded, and for the first time Jean-Luc realized there were
discreet shutters along one wall above a counter. The shutters
fluttered slightly.
"This is some crew you have here," he couldn't help noting.
"They have served with me for some time," Jones said, and there was a
touch of sadness in it.
"Meaning?"
"Am I to tell you the story of my life, Jean-Luc?"
It was...odd to hear his name in Jones' mouth.
"We have to talk about something, I suppose," the man said at last.
"And my life story doesn't really interest me."
To Jean-Luc's surprise, Jones took this as his cue, and in a quiet
voice as they ate their breakfasts - coffee and croissants for Jones -
the captain explained that he was not exactly retired from the Navy,
but had been put on a sort of honorary reserve. He and his crew were
being reprimanded, and their case was still under review, for actions
they had taken at sea without direct orders. Jones stood by his
decision to fire on the Libyan ship, but would accept the decision of
the Navy. He even spoke with quiet fondness of retiring completely,
and sailing in his ship full-time. Jean-Luc found it remarkable that
the man expected his crew to remain with him, and could not help a
sharp jealousy at engendering that kind of trust and loyalty. His own
life seemed bleak and empty and lonely by comparison.
*But then, it is bleak and empty and lonely, isn't it, little Johnny?*
After breakfast, he was given a long tour of the ship, while he began
to feel more and more furious with himself that he wasn't more furious
with Jones. It was ridiculous that he should allow this abduction
with no more than a token protest.
But the damn ship was fascinating. It was extremely large, and the
whole thing was so *clean* Jean-Luc couldn't believe it. The main
salon was as large as a ballroom, and the bar, he noted, very well-
stocked.
Jones saw him looking over the bottles and shrugged. "Feel free to
help yourself."
Jean-Luc looked at him in surprise. "You won't let me smoke but
you'll let me drink."
Jones frowned. "I would let you smoke if we had any cigarettes. I
have ordered some for you on the next supply run."
Jean-Luc blinked. "Oh."
"I'm not trying to reform you, Mr. - Jean-Luc. I just want to give
you some time to think. You have so much to live for, it seems
obvious to me that your desire to kill yourself is...not logical."
Jean-Luc finally felt a little of anger he needed. "What do you think
you know about what I have to live for?"
Jones shrugged mildly. "Since you don't want to talk about yourself,
very little."
"But you just go ahead and say that anyway?" His hands had returned
to his hips. If the large guy - Mr. Worf - hadn't been standing in
the corner, he would have gotten in Jones' face a little.
"You have money, fame, good-looks, people who seem to care about
you..."
Something in Jean-Luc's face must have reacted. Jones let a moment
pass in silence.
"Is that it, Jean-Luc? Have you no one who cares about you? You
seemed surrounded by friends at the party."
Jean-Luc smiled without humor. "I can always draw a crowd by shaking
my ass."
Jones frowned and seemed to sink into thought. Jean-Luc's stomach
growled, and the tall man snapped out of it.
"It's lunchtime."
Jean-Luc shrugged. "I never eat lunch."
Jones frowned again. "But you're hungry."
"A boy has to keep his figure."
The frown became a scowl. "You don't have to do that with me."
Jean-Luc's face took on a fey grin. "What? You're the big, strong
captain. You sure I'm not here to play 'Cabin Boy?'"
"Quite sure."
"Where is Mrs. Captain Jones, anyway?" Jean-Luc saw the big guy in
the corner stiffen.
"She's dead," Jones said with that uniquely quiet voice.
Jean-Luc's waspish retort about lonely widowers just wouldn't make it
past his lips. He found himself looking at the bottles of Absolut.
"I have a son, just a little over a year old," Jones said as though
nothing were wrong. "Would you like to meet him?"
It would be so easy. He knew Jones wouldn't stop him if he went to
the shelf and poured himself something tall and cool. He almost
smiled. Jones was pretty tall and cool himself.
Actually, "Cabin Boy" wouldn't be such a bad idea. Was the guy really
so straight?
"Yes," he said. "Why not?"
Jones nodded, and soon they were on the other side of the ship. A
clean, white door opened onto what was obviously a nursery, and a
beautiful woman with dark, curly hair was rocking quietly in a chair,
a bundle of blankets in her arms.
"Hello, Captain," the woman said.
"Hello, Deanna. This is Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc, this is Dr. Deanna
Riker, my first officer's wife. And this is my son, Quentin Junior,
I'm afraid."
Jean-Luc felt almost dizzy looking down at the large brown eyes
looking up at him from the depths of the bundle.
"You need something to eat," the woman murmured, and suddenly he was
looking into her own dark brown eyes. Sympathy, understanding,
concern...
"Who *are* you people?"
Jones and Deanna just looked at him as he glared, then turned and
strode from the room. He needed air. He had to breathe some air
before he gagged, before he suffocated.
He hadn't really been on the deck before, and it was impossible that
the sea was so blue and bright, reflecting the sky, which had not a
single cloud in it. He tried to breathe, but the deck was moving, and
he couldn't stand the glare of the sun. He fell to his knees,
gasping, his heart racing, his eyes closed against the blinding heat
and the way the world was spinning and oh God he was dying. He was
dying. Oh God.
When the panic attack receded, he was back inside, lying down on a
couch, a cold cloth on his head. Deanna was there, sitting close by
without any sign of the baby.
"What happened?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well. He'd had
them before.
She seemed to sense this. "Would you like me to prescribe something
for you?"
A memory tugged at him. "Jones said you're a doctor?"
"Yes."
"What are you doing stuck on this ship, then?"
The woman shrugged. "Will asked me to come, and I believe what he and
the others are doing is right."
"And what are you all doing, anyway?"
She considered for a moment, and he resented that cool, smug choice.
But he wanted to know the answer too much to turn away even from her
saintly charade. "Captain Jones made a decision that probably
prevented a war. The Pentagon doesn't want to admit it allowed the
situation in the first place. They'd rather punish him and hide the
truth. His presence here is a protest, and our presence supports his
protest."
Jean-Luc closed his eyes. It was all too much for him.
In the end, she gave him some mild tranquilizers that he didn't take
because he wasn't supposed to drink alcohol if he did. He managed an
early dinner instead of lunch, and spent the evening and night asleep.
Remarkably, one by one, days passed. Jean-Luc learned more about
Jones' heroism, but other than that got little from the crew besides
unfailing politeness. The only ones who really didn't seem to care
for him were Worf, who didn't seem to care for anyone, and Riker, who
was kept on an obvious leash by Deanna. Jean-Luc himself spoke
little, as soon as he realized he didn't have to talk if he didn't
want to. A couple times he got drunk. He slept and slept and slept.
And when he discovered the ship's gym, he worked out enough to let
himself eat three times a day.
~~~//~~~
"Jean-Luc?"
"Yes, Q? Go on. I'm listening."
"You don't look like you're listening."
"I am hanging on every word. It's just very pretty here."
Q looked around them in surprise. He really hadn't been paying much
attention to anything but the road since Picard's turn behind the
wheel had ended. The late November afternoon was chilly as they
approached the Nevada border, but the sky was a lovely dark blue, to
be sure. There were stunted little yucca trees lining the road, along
with little wire fences. Only the occasional car passed them on
either side. It was peaceful.
Picard shifted suddenly. "There's a hotel ahead."
Q looked at the sign. "Yes, a Day's Inn. So?"
"So I'd like to check in."
"Why? We have miles to go before we sleep, Jean-Luc."
"An extra night won't matter."
Q looked over at Picard curiously. It wasn't that he minded. He was
pretty tired, but...
"I need to make love with you, Q."
Q's eyes fluttered closed, then snapped open to look at the road. The
turn-off was two miles distant. He reached out with his right hand
and found Jean-Luc's, bringing his hand first to his lips for a gentle
patter of kisses, then, slowly, down to his groin, where Picard could
feel how much he needed him as well.
~~~//~~~
They had learned enough about this world to agree casually when the
hotel manager suggested a room with two beds. As there was rather
obviously no room service, and the restaurant closed at ten, they made
themselves buy sandwiches for the room before finally locking out the
world and falling into each other's arms with little sighs.
It felt so damn good to laugh with Jean-Luc, Q thought. How long had
it been since he'd actually *shared* a joke with anyone?
They shed their clothes like shadows, and sped together into the
nearest bed, which made a sort of low protesting sound. The room's
décor was horrible enough to keep them both from wanting to turn on
any more lights, and there was a strange, musty smell from the orange-
brown carpet.
Q buried his face in Jean-Luc's neck and breathed in deeply, losing
everything in that erotic perfume of sweat and soap. He bit
instinctively, gently, at the side of that neck, wanting to consume
him, to take him in completely.
"Yes, take whatever part of me you want, Q," Picard groaned, and Q
could only assume he'd spoken his thoughts aloud.
"I want all of you."
"Then take it," Picard groaned, wrapping his legs around Q's and
canting his hips just slightly.
Q forgot for a moment how to breathe. It was not, after all, a truly
instinctive action on his part. When he finally gasped out a
response, however, it surprised them both.
"Not here."
Jean-Luc left off kissing Q's chest. "What?"
"Not here. Not in this dump."
"What difference does the room make?"
"Jean-Luc -"
"I *need* you, Q. Don't you understand? I haven't let myself feel
this way for anyone, ever, in all my life. And for all my life I've
wanted to. You must know that about me. There's no ship here, no
crew, no Starfleet, no command, and as much as I miss it all we have
to make whatever we can of this time. This is our time, Q. I want to
be stupid with this, to be drunk with the feel of you. Who gives a
cold damn about the room?"
Q's eyes were enormous, and his body was shaking as he rolled them
over, covering Picard with what warmth he could. His voice as he
spoke had a slight wavering low that threatened to break on each vowel
sound.
"I've wanted this all my life as well, and I knew I wanted it from you
since...Shuttlecraft Six, I suppose. I almost touched you that time,
in the shuttlecraft. I was so lonely and bored, and you were so
exciting, so different, so damn intriguing. I offered you myself, and
I would have given you whatever you wanted, then, even then.
"But love between us wasn't possible then, and after I showed you the
Borg, I knew what was coming - part of it."
"You saved Humanity."
"You saved Humanity, Jean-Luc. You and your crew. What is it about
you Humans that the fate of your entire species keeps being rescued by
a handful of individuals?"
"The need for campfire tales, I suppose."
Q smiled, and then shifted his weight slightly, his hot cock brushing
Jean-Luc's, making them both shudder with need. "I've needed to be
like this with you since I became aware of my existence, Mon
Capitaine. I...trained for it."
Picard's hand was smoothing over the side of Q's face even as he
frowned slightly. "Trained for it?"
Q swallowed, dropping his eyes. "I would go someplace safe, when the
other Q were busy, and distance myself from my powers as much as
possible. I experienced being cold, being hungry, being foot-sore. I
trained myself to sleep as much as a Q can sleep. I tried to learn
patience, and to interact with sentient lifeforms without telepathy."
Q laughed, and Jean-Luc winced at the bitter sound of it. "Of course,
I had no idea I was actually getting ready to be without my powers all
together. I suppose in a way this has all been a happy
accident...except..." The waver was forced into a flat, thin line.
"Except that I can't protect you here. I can't stop you from cutting
your finger. I can't keep a plane from crashing. I can't cure you if
you get ill. I can't get you out of jail if they arrest us. And if I
hurt you...if I lost control..."
"Did I hurt you, last night?" Years of command experience kept
Picard's voice level. Nothing else.
Q leaned down to kiss him, and lingered, the sweetness of it like
oxygen. "No. But you have more practice at restraint than I."
"I trust you, Q."
Dark brown eyes closed almost in pain, but Q got them open before he
whispered, "I want to get you in a tub and wash you from your smooth
head to your tired feet. I want to rub your shoulders and back. I
want to hand-feed you strawberries and get you a little drunk on
champagne. I want to take my time, get you so ready you can't see,
can't breathe, can't do anything but feel good. I want to be inside
you when you're feeling nothing but joy."
Picard smiled. "I'm already there."
But Q only looked back in need, almost miserable, and Picard couldn't
stand it. Reaching up for a deep, desperate kiss, he shifted them
both, then ended the kiss and pressed down on Q's shoulders just
slightly, guiding his lover's mouth down his body. Q responded
instantly, eagerly, licking at his chest and whispering Jean-Luc's
name.
Picard almost chuckled. It was no hardship to have Q take him in his
mouth, and when teeth nibbled at his nipples, he groaned with
unabashed lust and felt luxuriant in decadence. Gently, he put his
hands in Q's hair, not guiding or suggesting, just softly stroking
that fine silk, thinking of Q's sensual mouth as it traveled over his
body.
Then he made himself speak, quietly, every word an effort in
modulation. "You do take care of me, Q. A great deal of what I am I
owe to you, and if I've been at all responsible for the changes I've
seen in you these past weeks, I can only hope they bring you the joy
they bring me. Each time you have been patient or endured hardship,
and even more, each time you have brought pleasure to this...adventure
we're sharing, I have felt wonder at being with you. I'm feeling
wonder and joy now because you're with me. I think, despite a
lifetime of disappointments that tells me not to think it, that I will
always feel wonder and joy with you, Q, as long as you love me."
Q rested a moment, his forehead against Picard's belly, and the sound
of his breathing was loud without being harsh. Jean-Luc stroked his
hair again, and then Q moved down, kissing the wet tip of the dark red
penis which waved in front of him in rhythm to the beat of Picard's
heart. His tongue snaked out, dragging across the slit, and Jean-Luc
muffled his shout into the pillow, his head craned to the side.
Q slid his hands under the smooth buttocks, lifting him up just a bit,
then slid down so he could look into the man's face. With a soft
grunt at what he saw there, Q lowered his head, sliding the length of
him deep into his mouth, feeling complete, feeling completed.
Jean-Luc endured the lack of further movement as long as he could keep
his hips from thrusting forward, but when Q bobbed his head just
slightly, the man's body simply rebelled, and though the thrusts were
gentle they could not be stopped. But then Q encouraged them, cupping
the warm sac, rolling the testes between his fingertips, dragging his
tongue again and again across the slit, drawing him out to his lips,
which dappled him with kisses, then took him in deep, caressing him
with cheek and throat muscles.
Q released him suddenly, using his hand to stroke up and down, then
again taking him deep in his mouth as a now slick finger teased his
tight opening.
And Jean-Luc came with a desperately muffled howl, shuddering through
aftershocks until he lay gasping, unfocused, blind to Q as his lover
licked him clean and then rose to lay beside him. Blind, but not
oblivious, as he pressed up against that warmth and breathed the smell
of him in deep.
Rousing himself with difficulty, lethargic, if not stupefied, Jean-Luc
reached for Q...and found him soft. He was about to protest that Q
had come without him again, when he realized there was no semen,
nothing but perhaps a trace of precum. Q wasn't excited.
That roused him, and he stared down into Q's eyes with deep concern.
Q, however, only smiled back somewhat sleepily.
"Got too excited, I guess. Like the first time you let me touch you."
Q reached up with obvious effort and lightly kissed the man's lips,
then let his head fall back on the pillow with a soft thump. "Perhaps
later, hm?"
Picard watched the dark eyes close, and in a moment Q was sleeping.
It was an almost unbearable luxury to curl around that long body and
follow him into the safe darkness.
~~~//~~~
END OF PART TWELVE
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
http://www.onelist.com/subscribe.cgi/ASCEML
========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 13/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:36:04 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 13/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:27:04 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Q woke up with his heart pounding and immediately shot up in bed
calling Jean-Luc's name. The lack of response had him rushing into
the open bathroom.
Nothing.
The bed had still been warm with the man's heat, and the smell of him
was somewhat soothing - no strange smell of fright, and no signs of a
disturbance.
*He probably went to get some ice.*
Q managed to drag on some jeans and a T-shirt and stuff his sockless
feet into his Nikes before he threw open the door. The motel pool -
drained - lay in front of him, fenced-off. On the other side was the
two-lane road, and on the other side of that stood a figure
silhouetted in the last red rays of the sunset.
Q got his breathing under control before walking across the road.
Picard turned and smiled at his approach, but then went back to
looking at the extremely flat horizon. Q stood with him a long moment
before he realized what had captivated the man.
It was so quiet. This almost-desert had practically no bugs, and the
interstate with its traffic was two miles away. No sounds came from
the rooms of the motel. There was no another person in sight. The
sky was enormous.
Q was startled by his own thoughts. How many skies had he seen in his
existence?
But he was mortal now, and had been for many weeks. It was the same
sky, but he wasn't the same Q. He felt impossibly small,
insignificant, and for moment, terrified.
Then a warm hand slid inside his own, and held him, and without
warning he felt safe, protected, kept away from everything he truly
feared by the boundaries of this universe. The flat horizon was a
path and a border. He could stand here and keep his distance, or
approach as he willed. It was a limited, Human freedom, and yet it
had an absoluteness he had never known before.
And the last of the sun disappeared, and the sky went from dark blue
to black, the stars gathering for the all-night display. Everything
grew still.
He became aware of the desire to walk towards that fixed horizon, out
into the desert night until he was lost, until there was only the
night and the earth and Jean-Luc at his side.
"Would you stay with me?" he whispered. "If I walked out into it
all?"
"Yes."
They had to kiss then, though briefly. The moment was passing, and
they wanted to watch it go.
"Tomorrow," Picard murmured, "we'll be going through the Painted
Desert, and the Petrified Forest. In this world there was no nuclear
bombardment of the Air Force bases in Nevada and New Mexico. The land
will look as it has for thousands of years.
"We'll have to stop, at least a little. Perhaps a short hike."
The moment ended, and the night released them. Jean-Luc turned with a
smile, and his eyes glistened in the light from the motel's lampposts,
and from the stars.
"Yes, we'll have to stop."
~~~//~~~
They carried their picnic - Q had found a "satisfactory" Indian basket
in a roadside souvenir store and filled it in the next large town with
things he wouldn't let Picard see - to the top of the stony hill,
finding a nice patch of shade from a cluster of stubby trees. It was
cool, but the midday sun warmed the rocks and radiated up through the
wool blanket. All about them rose the broken landscapes of red-brown
mesas.
Picard chuckled when he saw the contents of the basket: caviar,
pickled herring in wine and in sour cream, crackers, finger
sandwiches, cheese, a small bottle of rosé, pears, and stuffed
mushrooms still warm in their Styrofoam container.
Picard waited until Q had had a chance to sample everything, then
smiled, leaning back against a blanket-covered rock with the half-
drunk glass of wine in his hand.
"So, Jean-Luc was feeling better?"
~~~//~~~
Junior seemed fascinated by Jean-Luc's head. His large brown eyes
would widen as they tracked the smooth, shiny globe, At first, the
fashion model found it as easy to ignore as the paparazzi, but after a
week aboard the yacht a confrontation was inevitable.
It was lunch, and the captain was eating with Riker, Deanna, and Jean-
Luc while his son ignored his chocolate milk to stare at his father's
guest's head.
Jean-Luc stared back.
"I think you should take it as a compliment," Jones said with a
diplomatic smile.
"Yes, he doesn't usually take to new people so quickly," Deanna put in
a bit breathlessly.
"Or so hypnotically," Riker added.
"Hmm," Jean-Luc said at last, throwing a look at the large man. "I
suppose he has had to get used to harry people, sometimes difficult, I
understand, for the young."
The long pause timed the inner debates around the table until Riker's
smile indicated that he was going to take that as a joke.
Junior's eyes remained fixed.
Jean-Luc sighed slightly and put down the fork he was using to push
his creamed spinach from one side of his plate to the other, and then,
with the solemnity usually reserved for those about to be coronated,
he lowed his head to the young child until a small, slightly wet hand
touched his scalp in infant wonder. Another hand joined the first,
and several erratic pats signaled the baby's explorations of this
great unknown.
When the hands withdrew, Jean-Luc sat up, and Junior took a sip from
his capped milk cup.
Another day passed, and another, and when the supply helicopter came
Jean-Luc made no mention of getting a ride back to civilization. He
did read over every word of the newspaper, and discovered that Captain
Jones' escapade was national news, even though it warranted only two
paragraphs on page twenty-three. A shadow fell across the page just
as he was turning to the people section.
No mention of his absence.
"You're not smoking." Jones' voice could have made him famous, Jean-
Luc thought, if he would only use it better. That tightly controlled
tone didn't suit the nuances and cadences that voice could manage. He
stifled his creativity with every orderly word.
What would it be like to hear Jones moan in pleasure? Could that
voice say things like "fuck me" or "suck me?"
Jean-Luc looked down at the unopened carton of Marlboros in the deck
chair beside him, then up at Jones' dark silhouette against the bright
blue sky.
"You're disappointed?" he asked mildly.
Jones shrugged and dropped down into the other chair. The blue-green
ocean rippled out before them both, light white caps and deep dark
ridges constantly moving against each other, out and out to the far
horizon.
"I thought you were greatly in need of a cigarette. You described
yourself that way often enough."
"I use them to help with stress. Guess I'm not feeling all that
stressed out right now."
That pleased Jones, Jean-Luc could tell. While he was deciding
whether to be annoyed at that, the captain continued, "It has the same
effect on me, always has."
"What?"
Jones looked puzzled. "The sea."
Jean-Luc frowned, thinking, as he looked over the expanse of broken
blue.
"No, not the sea. It's..." He allowed himself the luxury of
consideration, weighing his words, enjoying acutely the knowledge that
someone was listening to him with the intent to understand him
completely. "It's the isolation. It's being so far away. It's the
sameness, the sense of not having anywhere to go because the ship is
doing it for me. It's the knowledge that I am...here." He smiled at
the horizon, then turned open hazel eyes up to the man. "I suppose it
is the sea."
Jones smiled then, the first real smile Jean-Luc had ever seen on that
face, and nodded.
*Oh, my dear captain. Do that again.*
"You took to the sea as a young man, I suppose?" Jean-Luc asked
lightly, his face nothing but composed pleasantries.
"Oh, yes. I was born on the sea." Those full lips, usually set into
a strict line, had softened with that smile, and still held the
invitation to this slight but genuine intimacy. "My mother wasn't
supposed to be out, of course, but she and my father were celebrating
the funding for their hoped-for dig in lower Egypt, and I wasn't
supposed to come along for several more days. Fortunately, my father
had taken his duties as medic seriously enough to know what was going
on when my mother...exhibited signs of what was happening to her."
"Shouted a bit, did she?"
Jones smiled again. "Indeed, though she maintains to this day that
her composure remained intact."
Jean-Luc laughed, almost at the wonder of it. Had it been any other
man telling him this story, he would have suspected embellishments,
but as it was, he could see the whole thing clearly in his head.
"Your parents were archeologists?" he asked.
"Primarily, though my mother came from oil money, and to it she did
eventually return. She...she and my wife were very close." The smile
was gone, and a sort of silent acceptance or resignation took its
place.
"They were happy when you joined the Navy?"
"My father had served in the war, though in the Air Force. After a
few obligatory jokes, he accepted it readily enough."
"And they support your protest, I suppose?"
Jean-Luc knew Jones was tempted to deny knowledge of any "protest,"
but gave nothing away as the captain simply nodded his head. "They
were somewhat uncomfortable when my crew made it clear they would be
joining me, but I did explain that part of it hadn't been my idea."
Jones looked slightly uncomfortable, and shifted his weight as his
tone changed. "And you? Are your parents involved in photography or
fashion?"
Jean-Luc laughed aloud, though he tried to reign in the harshness of
it after the first burst of sound. "No," he said after a moment. "My
mother died when I was a child, but before that she worked in
insurance. My father makes wine."
"That sounds interesting."
"And hates queers."
Jones blinked at him, and Jean-Luc regretted spoiling the mood. He
acknowledged as much with a shrug.
"I suppose despite my age I can't stand the idea of anyone speaking
well of him. When I was fourteen he discovered my preferences and
tried to get the state to finish raising me. It took me about a year,
but I earned enough to file for adultship and I left on my own. I
heard later my dad and brother told everyone I had died. When my dad
passed himself into the Great Beyond, I got some lawyer up my nose
wanting me to sign an agreement that I wouldn't come after the will
money. I pointed out that the estate was in the red and told him to
stick it."
"Just because your looks were all you had at fourteen doesn't mean you
don't have much more to offer now."
"Is that your Doctor Troi talking, Captain?"
"No."
"Then you've noticed on your own the queen's loosing his girlish
looks?"
Jones scowled, but his words were not in the least what Jean-Luc was
expecting. "I find it incredible that you seem to have no idea of your
own worth, your own...magic of presence."
"My what?"
"My son is completely charmed by you, have you noticed that? Everyone
on the crew, even my first officer, who suspects your motives, enjoys
your company. You have a sort of limitless energy, and when you bother
to share your thoughts with others your insight is positively
unnerving. Just to speak with you, to learn about you, is frankly
provocative." Jones stopped, and Jean-Luc allowed him unlimited
silence, his ears nevertheless straining for even one word more.
"I was brooding, you know. Brooding on this ship, brooding over my
meals, brooding over the paper. My crew threatened to mutiny if I
didn't go to that ridiculous party. Since you've been here, I've had
something else to think about. It's done me a world of good. But
more than that. You are a legitimately interesting individual, Jean-
Luc. I want to know all about how you survived on your own in the
life you must have suddenly found yourself thrust into. I want to
know how you feel about being famous, about keeping your sanity - or
losing it - while everyone around you cares only about how they look
or who's selling what. Do you think your life is empty and shallow,
Jean-Luc? I think it's vicious. I want to know how you've survived
this long, and why on Earth you don't realize that having survived
your life so far means you could be a success at whatever you tried."
"You know nothing about me."
"On the contrary, I know that you've been a successful fashion model
since you began in the business, that you're considered dependable and
easy to work with, that people recommend you with confidence, and that
you've shown not the slightest trace of your depression or despair to
any of the people you work with. I understand from two people I've
spoken with that those who saw you talking about killing yourself with
me at the party only believed themselves to be witnessing your attempt
to seduce me." Jones narrowed his eyes as he focused on Jean-Luc
shuttered face. "I cannot imagine the sort of strength it must have
taken for you to show no one that level of unhappiness."
"I never finished high school."
"Yet you manage your finances well, and have no outstanding debts.
You read and speak like a classically trained actor, and you learn
whatever life teaches you is important. And that last, by the way, I
did get from Deanna."
"I have no idea what I could even try to do with the rest of my life."
Jones smiled again, brilliantly. "I know! That's why you're here!
Jean-Luc, haven't you seen by now how very selfish I am?"
"Selfish?"
"Yes, exactly. We're in the same boat, you and I. If the Navy won't
accept that I did what needed doing I won't be able to stay, and then
what the *hell* will I do with myself? This is the only life I've
ever known. As you stood there in your party clothes and wanted out
before the party ended, I saw myself in you. I *have* to help you,
can't you see? So that you can help me back."
"You're out of your mind."
"Quite possibly."
"And full of shit."
Jones stood up, and there was a sort of celebration about the gesture.
"Undoubtedly. But please, Jean-Luc, do think about it."
The captain left him then, and Jean-Luc fought off the impulse to
applaud him off-stage. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the pep-
talk, it was that he found infuriating the whole notion of Jones'
believing a pep-talk could actually help him.
However, a simple response to Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes had already formed
in his mind.
The crew had long since stopped guarding him. They had been told,
after all, that he was Jones' friend, and as he became more obviously
self-possessed, they treated him simply as a guest.
Nevertheless, Jean-Luc made sure no one saw him creeping down the
hallway at one in the morning.
Jones' door was not locked, just as he had suspected, and the well-
oiled hinges made not a sound as he swung the door slowly open, then
shut behind him.
He stood a long moment just there by the door, just a little shivery
in his gray sweats and white T-shirt. The large portholes let in
three funnels of moonlight, and the sound of the sea was strong and
soothing. Jones' deep breaths from the bed seemed somehow a
counterpoint to each gentle swell of the ocean, and there was a sense
of profound slumber and unbreakable peace.
Jean-Luc felt a most unexpected excitement as he approached the bed,
and yet there was a growing reluctance there as well. He had known
for days that Jones didn't really understand his own feelings, and yet
this was hardly the first time he'd had a man want him without knowing
what he wanted. Opening this man's eyes to the truth wasn't wrong,
but he wasn't doing it for the right reasons.
But to leave without what he had come for simply wasn't on the
evening's agenda.
Counting on the man's military training - this wasn't the first time
he'd been in the bedroom of a man in - or rather out - of uniform -
Jean-Luc let a bare foot fall a little heavily to the floor.
Jones' eyes opened and immediately found him in the moonlight.
"Jean-Luc?" The voice was husky, but alert. "What is it? Are you
all right?"
Jean-Luc knelt by the bed, his expression serious, and watched Jones
raise up slightly before, quickly, smoothly, placing his lips over the
captain's, pressing gently, tenderly, not letting himself dwell on the
level of affection the action raised in his own body, concentrating on
getting it just right: sensual, but undemanding, sexual, but without
violation.
Jones' breath caught in surprise, and a strong hand grabbed his
shoulder, pushing away.
But not pushing very hard.
Jean-Luc kept the pressure constant, making no further demands, and
the hand stopped pushing him away at all. He opened his lips just a
bit, an invitation that was neither accepted nor denied, then let just
the tip of his tongue brush those full, gorgeous lips.
Jones gasped and jerked away. Large, almost frightened eyes stared at
him in shock.
"It's all right," Jean-Luc soothed, his voice a deep, rumbling purr
barely audible over the gentle whispers of the ocean. "It will be all
right." His own hand had found Quentin's shoulder as they kissed, and
now trailed lightly over the man's chest, covered though it was in
light blue cotton pajamas, buttoned almost to the neck. The heartbeat
under his fingertips was frantic.
"I think - I think you should leave," Jones managed to whisper.
"Yes, I should think you do," Jean-Luc murmured with a smile. "You
think you should do nothing but protect me and help me. The thought
of enjoying me, as I want to enjoy you: that would seem wrong to you,
I'm sure."
"You're in no frame of mind -"
"It's your frame of mind that concerns me, Captain." Jean-Luc slipped
a hand between the buttons and stroked at smooth skin. Jones
shivered, but did not grab his hand, or shift away. It was difficult
not to feel smug, but he was smiling as he leaned over the bed and
kissed those incredibly sensual lips once more.
But then...Jones kissed him back.
Jean-Luc hadn't been expecting that, not so soon and not so...well.
Jones' mouth opened slightly, and the sweetness of it was astonishing,
overwhelming. Strong arms wrapped around him, pressing him against
heat, anchoring him to the bed, the room, this place, this time.
Craving more, Jean-Luc slipped his tongue into that warm haven and
explored, wanting to know everything he could reach, everything
Quentin would allow him to touch. He moaned, and was answered in
kind, and now his arms were around the long, strong body and he was
moving with unconscious grace from the floor into the bed. Quentin
shivered at the feel of him, then tensed as Jean-Luc's hands went to
those tidy buttons over his chest.
"Shhh," Jean-Luc soothed. "It will be all right."
"Jean-Luc," quietly whispered, was answered only with the sound of
cloth being pushed gently aside, and then the whisper of kisses over
smooth skin. When one kiss found a pink-brown nipple, Quentin hissed,
then moaned. The hand returned to his shoulder as a clamp. "No!"
The uninvited guest shifted and leaned up, looking down into Jones'
eyes. "No?" The question carried not the slightest inflection.
Jones' faces was alive with fear. "No. Please. I don't want this."
Jean-Luc deliberately shifted his hips, brushing Jones' stiff cock
with his own through the warm material. "Part of you does."
Quentin grew still, discipline returning somewhat. "It's just -- This
isn't why I brought you here."
"I know that. But you do want me." As if absently, Jean-Luc's hand
played lightly over Quentin's chest. The captain's free hand caught
the fingers tightly. "Is it so wrong to let yourself feel good?"
Quentin shook his head. "You keep saying that as though there's
nothing more to this. I'm worth more than that. You're worth more
than that!"
"Save the speech, Captain. I don't need affirmation right now! I
want you, and you want me. I know we're both on unfamiliar ground
here, but you're the one who talked about helping each other."
Jones frowned. "'Unfamiliar ground?' What is that supposed to mean?"
Jean-Luc grinned. "You mean you've done this before." He thrust down
gently with his hips and laughed as Quentin went just slightly cross-
eyed. "You maniac, you!"
"You're the one who's done this before," Jones hissed. "All too
often, I believe. To the point where you've forgotten not everyone
who takes an interest in you wants to sleep with you!"
The man lost his grin, but didn't look angry, only puzzled. "Is that
what you think this is?"
"What else can I think?"
"You can think I'm here because I've been unable to think about
anything else but what it would feel like to be here. I'm here
because I've never wanted someone this way before."
"You'll forgive me if I doubt the sincerity of someone who sneaks into
my bed in the middle of the night."
Jean-Luc was quiet for a moment, as though considering something, but
Jones saw the glint of rage in those hazel eyes. The powerful,
compact body pulled back, and Jones let him go, and then in one second
strong hand were over Jones' cock, caressing him expertly through the
cotton cloth.
"Oh!" The choked, shocked sound echoed slightly in the cabin, but the
noise wasn't one of protest. Quentin's hips thrust up, his whole body
seeking that warm contact. During their talk, as Jean-Luc had felt,
the man below him had only become more seriously aroused, and a hint
of dampness began to seep even through the thick cotton of those
pajamas. Fingertips patted at this expression of need, and another
hand cupped the soft flesh beneath.
Then with a near-snarl Jean-Luc rose from the bed, his own erection
long gone, wondering exactly how it was he walked so willingly into
the disasters of his life. He couldn't even manage selfishness
anymore. The door was only a few steps from the bed, and the thick,
clean carpet made the journey soundless, and only that allowed him to
hear the stifled whisper.
"Don't go."
He stopped, looking at the gray-upon-gray of the door set in its
frame. He had no desire to leave, no faith in staying.
"I don't..." Jones' voice trailed off in a way that was all wrong.
Jean-Luc rode out a wave of guilt, then turned around. The captain
was sitting in the middle of his bed, his hair a mess, his eyes
sparkling wild in the moonlight, and heat rushed to Jean-Luc's groin,
uncaring of the circumstances. To see the man this way was worth it,
and yet his feeling of guilt increased.
"I don't understand what's happening," Jones said at last.
"Nothing's happening. I took advantage and I shouldn't have. I
wanted to stay. I wanted to be with you." Jean-Luc shook himself.
How could he have lost so much in just days on this ship? Every
weapon in his arsenal had been stolen while he concentrated on giving
up smoking. "I could tell you wanted me, Quentin, and I'm such a
whore I forgot that wouldn't be enough." His hand fell back to the
doorknob. "I'm sorry."
The hall light was brighter than he had remembered, but he had only
taken two steps down the hall when a warm hand on his arm made him
oblivious.
"Jean-Luc, wait."
"Captain?"
The deep voice surprised them both, and in synch they looked up the
hall to the tall, dark form. Jean-Luc felt threatened by those
incredulous eyes down to his bones, his childhood, his soul. Whatever
Jones had been about to give him was lost to that gaze, and he knew in
that instant he would spend his life hating -
"As you were, Mr. Worf."
Worf and Jean-Luc both blinked, frozen, until the tall man nodded, his
expression blank, and turned around to walk back into his room,
closing the door behind him. Jean-Luc was left staring at that door,
turning only when the hand on his arm pulled gently at him, and even
then only to stumble along behind Jones' own tall form back to the
bedroom.
Alone with Quentin, Jean-Luc stared at him for moments in silence,
then shook his head, slowly, not seeming ready to stop any time soon.
"Jean-Luc?"
"It's...impossible that you did that."
"I find I am somewhat surprised myself," Jones noted dryly. "But I
suppose I felt it was unfair that I should be the only one tonight
whose world has been turned up-side down."
"Don't let your hard-on bother you, Captain. Chalk it up to my
experience."
"No." Now Jones shook his head. "You don't understand. That hasn't
happened...I haven't felt this way for so long. You don't know..."
Jones sighed, and his hand raised up suddenly, almost making Jean-Luc
start, to smooth along the side of the shorter man's face and head.
"She was ill, for so many years. And it hurt her, overwhelmed her, to
be intimate. We loved each other. You must understand. It was
enough to be with her. I never even thought to look at other
women...or men." Jones' half-embarrassed smile turned Jean-Luc's
guilt into an ache in his side. "She wanted a child so that I
wouldn't be alone. If I had realized that, I never would have...what
it took out of her. I should have known, the way she suddenly wanted
to be together that night. And when she told me, she was so proud of
herself, to have conceived. I couldn't tell her I felt that I had
murdered her by making love with her."
"Quentin...God..." Jean-Luc leaned into the caress, wanting to reach
out, to gather this man to him, wanting to have the right to comfort
him.
END OF PART THIRTEEN
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 14/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:36:47 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 14/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:27:15 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
"It was odd. Distinctly bizarre, when you came out of that ridiculous
cake, I felt...moved...touched...something. And then when I realized
you were in trouble, and facing the sort of crisis I could recognize,
it was easy to tell myself our connection was...whatever it was I was
telling myself."
"Connection?"
"You think I Shanghai people everyday, Jean-Luc?" Jones' hand moved
again, stroking, exploring lightly, as his eyes glittered. "You're so
beautiful. I can't believe how beautiful you are."
Guilt melted. The ache eased into the possibility of warmth. He
stepped closer, looking up into those eyes, licking his lips before he
whispered, "I could do anything for you you wanted. Do you want to be
inside me? Have me suck you?"
"Jean-Luc..."
"Even just using my hands I could -"
"Jean-Luc, listen to me! I'm not hiring you for the night. I want
to...make love with you."
"I can do that too."
Jones seemed ready to laugh, except that his face was busy looking
scared again. Jean-Luc couldn't help saying again, "It will be all
right."
Jones shook his head, but not to object. "It's been so long."
Jean-Luc took the last step between them then reached up to draw down
Quentin's dark head, bringing their lips together in a kiss that again
shocked him with its sweetness. It was, really, too great a gift.
But he was taking it anyway.
And he thought, then, of what it would be to have this man love him.
He had been loved before, even by men who could be cruel. And there
had been a woman once who had seemed to revel in the tragedy of loving
him. But this, being Quentin Jones' lover...he did not know if he
were capable of loving him back, but he did know he would never give
this man up, not willingly, not for anything he had known in his life.
They spent a long time just kissing, Jean-Luc soothing Quentin with
caresses up and down his arms and his back. Only when Jones seemed
calm did Jean-Luc move them slowly to the bed. Ending another kiss,
he efficiently finished stripping the captain, trailing his hands down
those long legs, carding his fingers through that dark hair, stroking
the scalp, easing him back on the bed before he slipped out of his own
shirt and sweats.
He knew with regret that Quentin wasn't going to last long. The cock
in his hand was perfectly sized, a good six inches and nicely thick
without being the type that would have him sitting on an icepack
later. He was cut without a scar, the pink tip flushing almost red,
the balls unshaven, nicely furry.
Jones was looking at him now with a question, and Jean-Luc leaned back
with a smoothing smile. Quentin's touch was light, but not tentative,
and it was hard not to chuckle at the man's surprise at his nearly
hairless genitals. He was a bit longer than Quentin, and about the
same thickness, but his circumcision had been done the old way, so his
scar gave the captain more reason to explore.
Biting his lip to concentrate on the feel of those hands, Jean-Luc
nevertheless saw the confusion in Jones' eyes.
"What?"
"I never thought of it this way."
"Thought of what?"
"Your...cock. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
Jean-Luc groaned slightly, and twitched in Jones' warm grip. Quentin
wasn't the only one who wasn't going to last long tonight. Then
Quentin stroked him, with some genuine technique, and Jean-Luc looked
into his eyes with surprise and pleasure. The man had evidently been
taking care of himself long enough to know what to do, and the
thought, while enjoyable in one way, made him quite sad in another.
He felt, in fact, the oddest sensation in his chest and stomach:
warmth, concern, an almost overwhelming desire for Jones to be happy.
He had no idea what it meant.
He had thought to blow Quentin's mind with some sexual display or
other, but for once he followed his lover's lead, and soon they were
stroking each other carefully, exploring what gave the other pleasure,
looking deeply into the other's eyes, enjoying being together,
enjoying the contemplation of future explorations.
All too soon for both of them, Quentin came, groaning and emptying
himself and looking, Jean-Luc thought, unbearably attractive. He
would have finished himself off then, but Jones roused himself and
stroked those last few necessary times, and Jean-Luc came whispering
Quentin's name.
They washed in the sink, Jean-Luc feeling dopey and indulgent, then
curled up in bed together with an ease that disturbed them both before
slipping just as easily into sleep.
~~~//~~~
Q's story done, at least for the moment, his voice grew silent, and
they watched the late afternoon paint gold and purple clouds above the
mesas for many minutes in a perfect silence uncluttered by the
slightest misunderstanding.
At the next gas station, Picard talked with the owner. Resort hotels
weren't exactly plentiful in the center of Arizona, but the man did
have a recommendation that took the captain by surprise. When Q
returned from the men's room he had paid for the gas and was standing
by the car.
"Problem, Jean-Luc?"
"I've found us a place to stay for the night."
Q puzzled over his lover's slightly deepened tone, then smiled at the
thought of what they would be doing soon.
"It's a bit of a drive," Jean-Luc amended. "I'll do it."
Q shrugged and tossed Picard the keys.
The directions he'd been given matched the map, and after almost an
hour Picard turned off the four-lane road onto a two-lane, then wound
his way up around a flat-top hill to discover the resort hotel and spa
the gas station's sister's friend from New York had stayed in after
her chemotherapy last summer.
Q chuckled. "You never stop surprising me, Jean-Luc."
Checking in was easy. It was off-season, too cold in the high desert
for the tourists, but the place was half-full anyway, a prized
recuperation and rejuvenation facility for the ailing rich. There
were many in wheelchairs, many with canes, as well as the young and
nervous, the arty and manic-depressed, the post-op and exhausted. But
this was a place of healing, not suffering, and the clean, colorful
grandeur of the resort soothed as the efficiency of the staff
caressed, and the two alien men felt themselves begin to relax almost
the moment their bags were taken.
Q felt that shivery calm from the sunset return, and found he was
unconsciously controlling his breathing. Picard eased his muscles
just slightly as they stood in the softly rumbling elevator the bell
hop operated by a hand-pulled lever. In his stomach anticipation
flickered.
The suite was lovely, with a king-sized bed, sunken whirlpool bath,
view of the grounds, large TV and sitting and dressing areas, soft
colors, and everywhere clean tidiness neither restrictive nor
antiseptic.
"We'll unpack our own bags," Picard said as he handed a five dollar
bill to the bell hop, who nodded, smiled, and wished them a pleasant
stay before he left.
They got the bags open, then Jean-Luc went to the phone. After that
lunch, neither of them was hungry, but his order of champagne and
strawberries made Q's eyes go slightly wide.
"Jean-Luc?" he asked when the captain had put the phone down.
Picard smiled and walked to Q, then reached up for a long, lingering
kiss, warm and loving, before making his way into the bathroom to
start filling the tub with hot water. He found some bath oil and put
in two capfulls, then located both the lubricant and the Ben-Gay in
the first-aid kit and set them on the nightstand.
Q's dark eyes watched him, but only the filling tub made noise as they
unpacked their cases. Neither made a comment about the lack of need
to unpack completely because they would only be staying the night.
The empty cases were stored on the top shelf of the closet.
A knock on the door was well-timed and welcome, giving Q the
distraction he needed to keep from shaking. When the iced champagne
was opened, however, and Jean-Luc ate a strawberry before joining him
in a silent toast, nothing could stop the faint trembling from taking
him completely.
"Don't be so nervous, Q. Trust your Jean-Luc in both universes. It
will be fine."
Q frowned slightly. "That Jean-Luc is me, telling you what you want
to hear."
Picard shook his head. "They're each a blend of both of us, as we are
a blend of them: one more way for us to be together."
Q had to set his glass down now, the flute rattling slightly before he
could get his hand away, but as he was swallowing in preparation for
some witty remark he hadn't yet composed, Jean-Luc took up his glass,
holding one in each hand, and moved back towards the bathroom,
juggling things a bit to grab the bottle on the way.
Before he ended up stepping into the hot water fully dressed, Q stayed
behind to shed his clothes then hustled into the large, mercifully
soft-lit bathroom to watch as Jean-Luc slid from his clothes, folding
them neatly over the small chair, then handed Q back his glass,
drained his own, and poured himself another, sipping at it with a
smile that curled Q's toes and made his throat dry even after another
deep swallow of champagne.
Muscle and sinew pulled and stretched together fluidly as Picard moved
into the tub, relaxing into the hot water with a sigh. Q met those
expectant hazel eyes a moment, then emptied the bottle into their
glasses before sliding into the fragrant bath himself.
"Relax, Q."
"Are you sure this a good idea? Now?"
"Oh course I am. Why aren't you?"
"I could suck you all night if you let me."
"I want you inside me, Q, and I thought you wanted it too."
Q made himself look, taking in the sight of moisture along pale skin,
that strong, beautiful face looking at him with love and desire, the
green and gold of eyes that wanted to hide nothing. Q made himself
look back with eyes equally open, all too aware of the fear they
showed, completely unaware of the way love deepened and darkened his
gaze while possessive longing etched his every feature into a request
Jean-Luc was only too pleased to grant. The man smiled and moved
forward, and again they were lost in a kiss that became several
kisses, and touches, and warmth shared even as it grew.
Picard broke the kiss gently, breathing in Q's ear, "I believe next
you're supposed to wash my back."
Q shuddered, his hands grasping the bulge of Jean-Luc's biceps,
feeling the muscle work under his fingers as the man resisted his
movement away. "I don't know. This might not -"
"What *is* it, Q?" Picard leaned back to see his eyes. "What?"
Q made himself say it: "I want you too much. I've dreamed of it too
much, and this Human body will like it too much."
"Q..."
"I won't be able to control myself. I'll hurt you."
"I don't care."
"Yes, you do. When you're looking at blood, you will. Dr. Crusher
isn't here with her toys to fix you up, you know."
Picard firmly pushed anger away. No more distractions. "I'm not
taking no for an answer, Q. Besides..." He put a finger over Q's
lips. "I've been preparing." Q's eyes went nicely wide once more.
"You won't hurt me. I want you to lose control. *Fuck* me, Q. Be as
much inside me as you can. With luck, I'll be too sore tomorrow to
drive, and we'll have to stay here another day." He smiled as Q's
trembling rippled the water. It was so quiet here. The peace of the
place mingled with the scent of the bath oil and softened the indirect
lighting like the glow of a candle.
Q reached for the soap and a washcloth, but Jean-Luc gently took his
hands.
"Enough build-up. It's only making you more nervous. Wash me after
you've come inside me."
"Jean-Luc..."
Picard placed a soft kiss on Q's sensual, trembling lips, then stood
in the tub and turned around, placing his hands on the thick rim.
He'd set the bath oil down on that surface, and in the mirror he could
see Q's eyes going to it. Q looked up then, and their eyes met in the
mirror.
"The bed..."
Picard shook his head. "Here. I want to see you take me."
Q's groan of surrender echoed slightly against the pale green tile and
was followed by the splash of his body rising up, the rain of water
from the skin of his long torso and thighs as he reached for,
achieved, and opened the bottle of oil. Jean-Luc watched in the
mirror as Q leaned down, kissing his back, licking at the slightly
oily moisture, making him gasp with the hot pleasure of his mouth
before he moaned at the slick invasion of fingers inside his body.
Picard spread his legs, swirling the water around his knees, and
arched his back. Long fingers teased, gently stretching, making him
want more so badly he bit his lip to keep from begging. He could see
Q's solemn, slightly dazed expression, and then again their eyes met.
"Hurry, Q." The fingers slid in deeper, and he couldn't help the
demand, "More."
Q froze at the word, then moaned, sliding his fingers out.
"More, Q. More."
Q whimpered, and Jean-Luc watched his tall body reposition in the tub.
He gripped tightly to the side. God, he wanted this. As he'd wanted
nothing before in his life, he wanted this.
The blunt pressure made him gasp, but to his relief Q wasn't
distracted. Being filled was different from the pressure of those
fingers, or the pressure of his own as he'd made himself ready for
this moment. And there was heat inside him, the burn of accommodating
that large cock.
Q's cock. Inside him.
He forced his eyes to stay open so he could see Q's hands move on his
hips, gripping him. The play of light on their skin only translated
to a glow in Jean-Luc's lust-fogged brain, and it seemed to him that
their love and passion had transmuted into the most ancient poetic
cliché. The pressure stopped increasing, and Picard knew Q was all
the way in.
"I love you, Q. More."
Q groaned to drown out those dangerous words. How could Jean-Luc know
so exactly what he wanted? How could anything mortal feel so good?
How could he keep from fucking this man - this absolutely
extraordinary man -- in his hot, tight ass until he passed out? He
couldn't look in the mirror, couldn't think too much about what he was
doing, couldn't -
"More, Q. Please. More of you."
Q's groan was basically a scream, and his Human body simply took over.
It felt so good, so impossibly good, he needed to do this as a
drowning man needed to breathe, and he was lost in it as a drowning
man became lost in the rapture.
He looked into the mirror. Jean-Luc Picard was bent over, hanging
onto the tub, his arms tight, each hard line suffused in soft light,
his legs spread, his back curved, his whole body rocking back with
each frenzied thrust of Q's body.
And for a moment, despite the insanity his body's need demanded, Q
froze, his dark eyes enormous. Jean-Luc's eyes stared back, and for
that moment, as an echo, the strong features betrayed the slightest,
but deepest, fear.
"You are so..." Q shook his head, his left hand smoothing over the
bowed back. He had no idea from where the strength for his own voice
came. "You are beauty, Jean-Luc, all that is light and line."
The fear in hazel eyes glinted. "Somewhat...faded."
Q looked as baffled as a child. "You...glow. Time only adds...every
day..." But he was losing the moment, and the body around his cock
was shivering, and the heat of being *here* burned away the words he
wanted to paint around this vision. He groaned, the low, desperate
noise his last eloquence before he began once again to move.
He thought about what he was doing. He concentrated on the heat, on
the clamped ring of muscle around his cock, on the glowing body that
had allowed him inside, on the mind and soul of the man whom he had
been allowed to love, and who loved him back.
He let everything go, just as he had feared, but instead of
destruction there was only acceptance, and a need as great as his own.
He tore down no walls, but was pulled in deeper and farther. He broke
nothing, nor was himself broken. There was only this simple act of
joining, primitive, sanctified.
He came, and it was just more of everything good and bright. He did
not fall, he was taken in, possessed absolutely, sinking against a
slick back, held up by Picard's locked arms while his hand dripped
with the man's semen and his own cock spent the last of himself inside
that hot, tight haven.
Jean-Luc kept them both up, his head lowered, his eyes closed. He
wished he could speak, that his brain could form the words to tell Q
that finally, finally, the part of himself inside that had never been
touched had not only been reached, but thoroughly enveloped. For the
first time in his life, in this secret place, even as his body
protested its increasingly awkward position and the water and sweat on
his skin grew slightly cold, Jean-Luc experienced a new and profound
flavor of satisfaction, contentment and peace. The man born to
explore wanted nothing more than to keep in this place and this moment
forever.
When Q slipped from inside him, he sighed, and smiled, and helped Q
get them clean, and then stumbled with him to the bed, answering Q's
somewhat disjointed words of love, sliding back into Q's arms, even as
Q slid into a deep sleep that held them as one until morning.
~~~//~~~
Q's eyes were looking into his face as he awoke.
"I was an idiot."
Jean-Luc smiled. "We sometimes have that effect on each other."
"How sore are you?"
Picard let his smile turn sly. "Not enough."
Only a few minutes later Q was sliding inside him, and this time it
was as gentle as the last time had been wild...as the next time was
wild, as Picard took Q hard, pushing them both over the edge with a
roar.
They ate on the balcony, a huge breakfast with pancakes, crepes,
fruit, juice, milk, coffee, bacon, eggs, and two very large Bloody
Marys.
Q drained his drink and cleaned his plate before he was ready to say
the rest of it.
"Jean-Luc, the problem with their primary relay matrix -"
"...lies in the intermix ratio. We can fix it with a simple retuning
of the pre-ignition sequence."
Q blinked, then realized he wasn't willing to be out-done. "We can
slap it together in a week and make it to fit in a briefcase."
"Doubtlessly."
They looked over the well-watered lawn, framed by the high desert
beyond, and then the stepping-stone rim of the world.
"We might not have a week once we get back to New Orleans."
"Yes, we should put it together someplace else, then get back into the
warehouse at night, hook up the transmitter, and set the explosives
for a minute after we beam out."
Q nodded. Neither of them had turned from the view.
"Or we could just stay here forever."
Q shrugged. "They'd find us. Besides, they're headed for an even
worse nuclear holocaust than your Earth had."
Picard didn't bother to ask if Q were sure of that. Had they known
even that first night that staying here was impossible? "It might
help, though, if Steward and Lancet could figure out their problems
with cold fusion. Most of the political bickering is over fuel
sources."
"They're too close to the temperature thing, and they'll never get
through the troubles they're having with the molecular breakdown of
the catalyst. Rumors of their work will help the other side drop the
bombs sooner, though."
The captain nodded. "We might yet find someplace safe."
"Jean-Luc, are you still afraid?"
He turned from the view at last, meeting Q's eyes. "What?"
"I'm not afraid anymore. I know it won't matter what they do. You
love me."
Jean-Luc smiled. "Yes, I do. And you me."
Q nodded. "It will be a pain to deal with them, the Continuum, your
crew, the universe in general, but just a pain. They can't hurt us,
can't separate us, can't take away what we've made together." The
full lips twisted. "Besides, we don't belong here anymore than the Q
who came to visit me belonged in our universe."
Picard chuckled. "It's really that you just don't want to see me
die." Q showed his surprise, and Jean-Luc shrugged. "I don't want to
see you die either, Q."
"We could make the unit here."
"Here?"
"Well, not here in the hotel. We could get a nice-sized RV, gut it,
drive to Albuquerque for the stuff we need -- after I order it, of
course."
"Of course."
"Which means I have to get on the phone."
"Hmm." It really would only take a few days. Jean-Luc could not keep
the regret from his eyes.
Q nodded, then slid from his chair to the floor, not stopping his
fluid movements until Jean-Luc's cock was deep in his mouth.
"Hmmmmmmm."
When Jean-Luc or Q would look back on the following sixteen days --
days spent in working almost every moment, in touching each other when
they could not kiss, kissing each other when they could not make love,
making love quickly when they wanted nothing more than to revel in
each moment of being together - the weeks would feel to both of them
like a sort of mental scrapbook. They resented their work, but
performed it almost frantically. Being arrested and questioned by the
government would separate them, and one medical exam on Picard would
mean intolerable exposure. They went almost without sleep, eating
whenever they could, drinking too much coffee, living strictly by the
unspoken agreement never to be out of sight of each other except for
matters of basic privacy, and sometimes not even then.
But they were Human...or near enough, and during those days there were
moments that did not answer to a work schedule. They both knew enough
to understand that what they felt demanded and deserved its own
emergencies, and if they sometimes lingered slightly beyond basic
needs, they forgave themselves and worked the harder for it
afterwards.
There was that late morning, when they consecrated their new workspace
in the RV by kissing until lunch, teasing themselves by not taking off
their clothes, just kissing, lost in it. Apart from Q's lips, Jean-
Luc would remember the smell of the new carpet. Apart from Jean-Luc's
body, Q's strongest impression was of the low ceiling, and the way his
hair brushed the covered cord of the ceiling's light fixture.
There was the time they both woke up hungry after midnight and ordered
steaks and red wine and fed each other and Jean-Luc's shoulders hurt
and Q rubbed him down before taking him. Q knew until eternity ended
he would recall in sharp detail that perfect, compact body lowering
down over his pulsing cock, the light from the candles they'd bought
shining on his smooth, rippling back.
There were the few times that the work they did was routine enough
that Q could tell more about Jean-Luc and Captain Jones, about the way
they got married and helped put an end to the final prejudice against
gays in the military, about how Jones' protest ended with a promotion
for him and his crew that eventually landed him a rear admiralty. He
told of how they learned make love together, Jones discovering how to
pleasure a man, and Jean-Luc discovering the difference between sex
and lovemaking.
There was the time they took a shower together to save time and Q
dropped to his knees and drank Picard in with the water.
There were the two times they treated themselves to hot baths and
massages at the pump room, the three times they had quick drinks on
the balcony, the night they spent watching black and white movies on
TV and sucked each other off during the commercials, the morning they
made love on the floor while the sun came up, the afternoon they came
back from their drive to Albuquerque and had to pull over for a
quickie in the bushes.
Each moment now was held in a breathless suspension of memory as they
packed up their gear and erased the computers' hard drives. Inside a
small metal suitcase under the bed nestled a fully functional cold
fusion generator. They had only to connect it to the transmitter in
New Orleans, and they would be able to signal the Enterprise - or any
other ship on a Federation frequency - to be beamed home.
END OF PART FOURTEEN
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 15/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:37:38 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 15/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:27:26 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
The last night, neither of them slept more than a few minutes at a
time. They meant to sleep; they had a full day ahead of them
tomorrow, driving back probably as far as west Texas before safety
would demand the gift of one more night.
"It's pathetic, really," Q mumbled, looking through the window at the
dawn-lightened sky.
"What is?"
"Us. Me. After all I've been through, all the power that is Q, and I
can't even stop the sun from coming up."
Picard rejected a dozen arguments even as they jostled for attention.
This wasn't the place for justice, or logic.
"We'll be together, Q. In the end, that's all that matters." He
brought up a lazy - as lazy as he could make it, anyway - hand and
played with Q's right nipple. His face lay pressed against the
entity's warm chest, a heartbeat pounding at his ear. "More than
anything else, I think I will simply miss this place."
Q chuckled, and Picard relaxed. There were still so many things to
learn about his lover - his *mate* -- that he hadn't been certain of
the correct approach.
A thrilling thought, someday to feel secure about Q's responses, if
such a thing were possible. He longed to find out.
"It has been surprisingly forgiving," Q mumbled. Picard felt a warm
hand caress his back. "Sometimes I've wondered if we could fuck on
the balcony without drawing attention."
"As long as we were quiet about it, I doubt anyone would care."
"Have you seen that extraordinary woman in the big-wheeled
wheelchair?"
"The one with the red hair?"
"Red wig, yes."
Picard pinched Q's nipple sharply. "She's got to be eighty at least,
Q."
Q pinched Jean-Luc's buttock. "I saw her playing one of those little
*Star Wars* hand-games yesterday, and when I walked by her she
starting cussing out the Empire. When I laughed, she invited me up to
her room for a drink."
Picard laughed, then said in mock-severity, "Don't be getting any
ideas, Q. You're mine."
Q shivered. "Yes, I am." A minute passed as they simply remained
where they were. "And you're mine."
"Yes, I am." Jean-Luc moved forward and captured that puckered nipple
in his mouth, shivering himself as Q's hands moved to cup his butt and
push his stirring arousal against Q's own. He moved again, drowning a
while in an exquisite kiss, when a finger slid suddenly inside him.
He groaned agreement and would have rolled over onto his back, when
suddenly Q ended the kiss and was looking at him with the expression
Picard had learned meant he wanted something in particular. Jean-Luc
smiled. Granting Q's requests in bed was always the best sex he'd
ever had.
And so he said simply, "Yes, Q."
But Q bit his lip and looked worried. "You should really hear this
one out first."
Picard raised his eyebrows, then closed his eyes and moaned in bliss
as Q moved his finger gently inside him. "Tell me, please."
"You used to do this," Q whispered, and Picard felt that long body
trembling slightly. "To yourself."
Picard frowned, puzzled, and looked down at Q's anxious eyes. "Yes,
in the shower." He smiled. "Preparing for you."
Q's trembling grew. "Would you...show me?"
Jean-Luc's eyes widened. He would say yes, of course, but first...he
had to adjust to this. They had already masturbated in front of the
other, together and separately, but this...
"If you don't want -" Q's quick words were cut off when Picard placed
two fingers over his lips. Q was shivering now, and hard against the
man's thigh. Jean-Luc steadied himself with a sigh, then pressed his
fingertips between Q's lips. Q hesitated, then sucked the fingers
into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them, even as he turned
them both over.
Jean-Luc ended up on his back, near the edge of the bed with his legs
drawn back. Q slithered off him and stood up, helping to hold the
man's legs up, whispering his lover's name after Jean-Luc withdrew his
fingers. If Picard weren't still hard, Q would have called the whole
thing off, but as it was, those hazel eyes were burning him, and all
hesitation seemed to have been lost.
"I would think about your being inside me, Q, about how you seemed so
worried about the idea, about how much I wanted you, and then I would
wait until the shower had relaxed me, and then..." Picard moved his
wet fingers down his body, not touching, but skimming that smooth,
pale skin, until he had reached the dark star of puckered flesh which
contracted just slightly as those fingers approached. It occurred to
Q that he might come simply from watching. When Picard spoke again,
he was startled. "For you, I wanted to make sure nothing hurt, so I
was gentle." A single finger caressed the rim, then patted it, then
slowly slid inside.
Q moaned, unable to see anything else but that finger sliding in and
out, stretching the walls of the man's channel with tiny circles. His
cock leaked, dripping to the floor, and he didn't notice.
Picard noticed. He was so glad he had agreed to this. It was
incredible to be gazed at like this. Eagerly, he slipped another
finger inside himself, smiling at the pressure, and decided to
elaborate, just slightly. After all, he said nothing but the truth.
"At first, it would feel a little odd, so I would think of you,
imagining that my fingers were yours, that you were preparing to take
me, that you were thinking of how hot I'd be, how tight, that you'd be
impatient, but gentle, that you'd want me to fit you exactly, that
you'd be unable to think of anything else." He stilled his fingers,
and Q's eyes flew to his face. Picard almost couldn't speak past the
constriction in his throat. "And when finally you were inside me you
were all these things, Q, all these and more." Almost roughly, Jean-
Luc thrust three fingers inside himself, unable to hold back a long,
low moan.
Something in Q seemed to collapse. His eyes, his whole face had
softened into a look of tenderness Picard almost couldn't bear. His
voice, when he spoke, had not even the force of a whisper, and his
hands on Jean-Luc's legs were so soft, as though he were opening the
wings of a butterfly.
"This is love: two minds willing to give whatever that love requests,
and made stronger and better for it. I did not know, Jean-Luc. All
my centuries of existence, and I had no idea. I was ashamed of how I
felt for you, those first few years of knowing you - embarrassed that
I could want to give you myself. I thought it cheapened me that my
soul could be had by some mortal who didn't even approve of me. I
needed your respect only so I could feel valuable again. And now I
must give you more - have already given you all of myself, and will
again and again, for eternity - and I am priceless, and yet to myself
I am nothing next to you. There is not an atom of your body I do not
adore, not a thought in your mind I do not long to know, not a
possibility of your existence of which I would not wish to be told
every detail. You are everything to me." Guiding himself with his
hand, he slowly pushed inside Picard's body, and then rested,
absorbing the reality of his position in the universe.
Jean-Luc didn't try to speak, and his arms could only stretch enough
to allow his hands to stroke Q's stomach and tug just slightly at his
hips. His eyes, filled with tears, showed him a Q outlined in
glittering prisms, and he found himself laughing, regaining his voice
just slightly as he began, profoundly, to relax.
"You're all covered in rainbows, Q."
Q began a slow rhythm of thrusting. "You're crying, that's all."
"No, it's you. Everything is you."
Q shook his head. "Another Human mystery."
"What...is?"
Q increased his pace, letting his body take over once again. "The way
I can understand...complete nonsense when...I'm buried inside you."
"Not nonsense, Q. You...are rainbows, and roses, and sunrises, and
every...damn cliché in the...oh...oh yes...more. More of you, Q."
Q groaned, and his whole body was pistoning into Picard's body now,
wildly, and yet even now with caution, with love. "You know I can't
bear it when you say that."
"More...harder...deeper inside me. More of you...inside me."
Q screamed, and there was just this motion, this heat, this tight
body, this primal joy, pure and scalding and sweet. He felt the end
coming and tried to slow down. If he'd had his powers he would have
used them, perhaps remaining in this time and place until the temporal
corridor buckled under the stress, but Human self-control was swamped
with desire and urgent need, and with a final thrust he came deep
inside this beloved other half of himself, trying to move his hand on
Picard's cock to get him to come as well, but losing himself, losing
time, almost tumbling to the floor, spent and weak.
Jean-Luc caught Q's body, and knew he could come when his body filled
with Q's hot seed, offering him the choice of white-hot pleasure. To
his surprise, he turned it aside even as he rolled Q onto his stomach.
As Q slipped from inside him, Jean-Luc gathered the slick cum on his
hand, then quickly stretched Q's opening before he plunged inside that
impossible heat and strength. Q moaned softly, still in a stupor, and
Jean-Luc ran soothing touches over the sweat-slick back even as he
began to move deeper inside. Q's hands fluttered, then stilled, and
Jean-Luc lost the final check on his rhythm, thrusting hard, almost
frantically, trying to enjoy this connection with Q as much as he
could before his body betrayed him. The pleasure was rising up now,
an energy surge that seemed capable of vaporizing him.
He wanted to speak. Hell, he wanted to compose a sonnet, or better
yet, some Ginsberg-like free verse that could somehow begin to
describe this, contain this, harness this. But the desire was
fleeting, lost in the heat and light even as he spilled out all that
he was inside Q's body.
~~~//~~~
They slept after all, and woke to a bright day, perfect for traveling.
But neither of them noticed the weather.
Silently, they rose from the bed and made their way to the small table
on which sat Q's laptop. A small flashing logo on the screen
indicated that their New Orleans' residence had been compromised.
Q tapped a few commands into the computer. "The system kept them
out."
Picard kept himself from asking if Q were certain. "What time?"
"Five AM." *Tap tap tap.* "I've got two different points of
attempted entry, but no broken glass, nothing on the motion sensors
inside."
Jean-Luc put his hand on Q's shoulder. "We'll have to approach with
the assumption that our warehouse is under surveillance."
"Yes, we'll -" Q jerked, then ran to the wall outlet and unplugged
the computer's phone jack. The connection terminated with a click,
and Q stepped back to the computer to enter several commands before he
relaxed. Picard simply waited until Q explained, "Someone was trying
to trace my connection."
"How close did they get?"
*Tap tap tap.* "Vancouver. Only three re-routes from us."
"Is there any chance they could know where we are?"
"I don't see how." Q's worried eyes found his. They had even thrown
their second set of credit cards and IDs into the hotel incinerator
last night, and were now going to travel as John Thompson and Patrick
White.
"Nor do I."
They nodded, then got dressed in an efficient six minutes before
taking their own bags to the car. Q paid for another week in cash,
while Picard got them some breakfast for the road, and then they were
back on their way.
In the next city, they ditched their car and purchased another in cash
with their latest IDs, ate lunch, and then were back on the road.
"We went as fast as we could," Jean-Luc said when they reached the
northeast Texas boarder and changed drivers.
Q settled into the passenger seat. "Yes, we did." In truth, his
Human memory had betrayed him, and it seemed that those weeks spent
building the fusion generator were all just one long day of work, with
a few moments of touching Jean-Luc scattered through. "Go a hundred
miles," he said, "and then let's stop and kiss for a while."
Would his body always respond like this, Jean-Luc wondered? His
nipples hardened slightly under his cambric shirt, and he felt a
breath of warmth in his groin that whispered down his legs and up his
chest. He met Q's eyes a moment before pulling out of the reststop.
"All right."
They drove through the rest of the day and about half of the night
that way: a hundred miles, then a stop for food and kisses, or gas
and kisses, or just a stretch of their legs and kisses. They
sometimes grew passionate, but stayed away from anything too heavy,
not wanting to confront the oppressiveness of it by risking too much
pressure, too much of what they both wanted so fiercely.
Well after midnight, they stopped at a Day's Inn and stopped for five
hours. The second Picard was in the bed, Q kissed his way down his
body and drank him in, needing it, savoring it, then assuring his
lover it was all right to sleep. He'd come with the taste of Jean-
Luc's semen on his tongue.
"Q..."
"Shhhh."
And the captain fell asleep. Q held him against his stomach,
exhausted as he had never been, as he hoped fervently he would never
be again...unless it were for another night here in this world. He
placed Jean-Luc's hand on his softened cock and thought of the man
inside him that morning, taking him when he could do nothing but lay
there and know the man was enjoying this body he'd made to be Human.
It was, in more ways than Q could explain, truly *his* body, and yet
it had never been as real as it was right now, in this world...this
world that was neither his nor Jean-Luc's, but Steward's and Lancet's.
For a moment he felt a sharp envy for those versions of himself and
his lover, but he could push that easily away. WW III was coming to
this place as surely as people needed gas for their cars. He and
Picard would be pestered and censured and despised in their own world,
but at least they would be safe from physical harm. Never again would
he have to watch blood well from Picard's body and have nothing more
to offer than a Band-Aid.
And yet it was difficult to sleep, to lose to unconsciousness this
last chance to be here, to be nothing more than two lovers sharing
warmth and a bed.
Not long after dawn, they tracked down a decent breakfast, then got
back on the road and made it to New Orleans just before midday. Their
back-up residence was located on Louisiana Street, a wide avenue busy
with tourist and uptown traffic. Q had bought it all with money that
could never be traced to any of their IDs and had it furnished by a
company who thought the house was going to be used by Japanese
business travelers.
They emptied out the car with three trips apiece, and Picard treated
himself to a long shower while Q set up the computers, then arranged a
thoroughly gnarled series of connections to access their warehouse
systems. When his lover immerged from the bathroom with the cordless
phone in his hand, asking what Q wanted on his pizza, the entity
reported in some relief that their security had yet to be breached.
In fact, no one had made another attempt to gain entry.
"So surveillance is a certainty," Picard noted.
"I've checked the bus routes."
"I'll get the camera, and we should both look like tourists."
They waited until after lunch, running a thorough check of the
generator and making sure their affairs were in order, leaving nothing
unexplained when they left that night.
They caught the Tchoupitoulas bus at the end of Louisiana, then rode
it past their warehouse three times, taking pictures with their
digital cameras and spotting each time the dark car with tinted
windows parked across the street.
They noted the plates, and once back at the house Picard tracked them
back - via a phony local address - to the US government. Q ran
through the pictures they'd taken on the PC, and found a second car
worth suspicion, but it proved to be a rental to a Mr. and Mrs.
Tourist. He filed away the plate number and continued to pour over
the pictures.
They exchanged notes over an early dinner, and agreed to come through
the adjacent warehouse on the north side, then enter their warehouse
by the back entrance.
"It's fortunate that contemporary fashion favors so much black,"
Picard noted. They were both in black jeans, while Q sported a black
T-shirt with a bright logo he would turn skin-side when they got to
the warehouse, and Jean-Luc sported a black-blue striped Polo. It was
almost Christmas, but the Louisiana nights were still quite warm, if
not muggy.
"I can't decide if we look Goth or like some sort of "after" ad for
Sugar-Busters," Q replied, smiling when Picard laughed. It
was...pleasant to think that after this little adventure he and Picard
would have so many referents the Enterprise crew wouldn't understand
and the Continuum wouldn't care about.
Q had debated hard with himself about whether to warn Jean-Luc more
completely of the obstacles they would be facing. Only the knowledge
that the captain was doubtlessly keeping some of his own darkest
concerns to himself as well kept Q from feeling guilty over the fears
he did not share.
*It's only because I'm a Q that I feel deserving of time and space to
love him properly,* Q thought, not believing a word of it. *Others in
the galaxy know better than to expect anything more than a couple
weeks' honeymoon, and I suppose we've had that, haven't we, Mon
Capitaine?*
They drove within a half-mile of the warehouse, then abandoned the
vehicle near the lane up to the ferry, carrying only the briefcase and
whatever they'd kept in their pockets. Online, their holdings would
remain in their estate for fifty years, with slow disbursements to
selected charities, until the final allotment would go in toto to the
March of Dimes. As Q doubted this world would last another fifty
years - or rather, that the Humans on it would last - this arrangement
was really an expression of Human futility, but Jean-Luc had liked it,
and as far as Q was concerned, half a billion US was a small price to
pay for being sucked off by the man of his dreams.
As they approached the warehouse, Q allowed himself to feel angry that
they would not have time even to lay eyes on the bed in which he had
spent so many nights dreaming the existence he was now allowed. It
was ridiculous, really, the attachment he'd developed to a collection
of wood, plastic, fiber and linen. At least he had learned enough to
realize he couldn't just whip up its double in their own reality and
expect it to be the same.
In fact, Q was acutely aware that this time together with Picard in
this universe was nothing less than what Humans sometimes called a
"Godsend." Without it, he supposed he and Jean-Luc would still be
circling around each other, and he personally would be moping and
counting the years until the captain retired.
And so, as they stood near the gate, checking the surrounding area
carefully, Q murmured in the dark space between street lights, "We'll
always have New Orleans."
A warm, dry hand clasped his, then released it. "Q, why did you study
this city in the 20th Century?"
"Watergate."
"What?"
"One of your world's most interesting times, Jean-Luc."
"But what has Watergate to do with New Orleans?"
Q peered at a car parked nearby. No one was behind the wheel. "I
shouldn't really tell you that."
Picard stared at him, then shook his head and focused on the fence.
As soon as he and Q punched in the code for the gate, they had to
assume they'd raise the alarm. Their advantage lay in the simple fact
that whoever was watching them - if they were being watched, and the
place hadn't simply been approached by a burglar - was that they
weren't going to be coming out again. The generator and transmitter
would be beamed out with them, and any authorities entering after them
would find nothing but their tools and living quarters.
Q's bed - a pity they couldn't stop for a nap...or anything else.
Shaking himself just slightly, Jean-Luc nodded at Q, who darted to the
gate. They were through in ten seconds, slamming it shut and
scrambling the combination before anyone watching could have gotten
near them. From there they opened the side door, then moved smoothly
inside the warehouse. The transmitter was just where they had left
it, a thin film of dust betraying their less-than-perfect insulation.
They knelt beside it, and Q opened the briefcase to key the generator
even as Jean-Luc opened the access port.
And found nothing.
As one, they froze. Then together they threw off the entire casing,
revealing, again, nothing.
Their eyes met, panic slamming into fear.
"They must have made it in," Picard whispered, "and bypassed our
alarms."
"But the code isn't breakable in this time, not without knowing the
root password, and that has to be entered correctly the very first --"
"Alien interference? Temporal incursion?"
"A giant stork with a cigar, Jean-Luc. We have to get out of here."
They scrambled up, and the room flooded with hard, white light.
"Keep your hands where we can see them!"
Q managed to snap the briefcase shut a second before it was snatched
from his hands. Picard managed to key the detonation sequence before
he was thrown to the ground. Q shouted, then was shoved down to join
him. The keypad was grabbed from Jean-Luc somewhat loosened grip.
"Bomb!"
Flashes of light, shouting, hands grabbing them, everyone moving
around them, commands being issued, then two black limousines and
strong hands held his writs. He grabbed back, defying them to
separate him and Q. A brief struggle, someone shouting about how they
had no time, then both of them shoved into the second car. He tried
to gain the seat properly, fighting the weight against his back that
was Q being shoved in after him. Then tires squealed, and they were
moving.
A gun was in his face.
"Sit."
He and Q sat, and looked into the hostile expression worn by a
somewhat familiar face.
"Lieutenant," Picard said levelly.
Lt. Fred Halkins nodded slowly.
"What is all this about?" Q asked, his tone perfect.
Halkins didn't respond.
There was a short, distant *boom.* Picard and Q knew their warehouse
was now a pile debris, though the buildings on both sides would be
unmarred.
Deep within both of them, almost unacknowledged, they mourned the
place that had held them safe in this world, a deep blue expanse of
soft star-like dots, and Q's gadget-filled kitchen.
The limo got on the I-10, and didn't stop until they got to Kenner,
then drove to some rather hideous suburb - it occurred to Jean-Luc
that Q was beginning to rub off on him - where both cars stopped.
Halkins kept his gun on them without speaking again, but they weren't
handcuffed. To Picard's surprise, their briefcase was placed in the
car, and they got a second guard in the front seat, before they began
driving again.
Picard considered ignoring them all and turning to Q to reassure him
that none of this was his fault, but couldn't overcome his own
revulsion to revealing his feelings to their jailers.
*Don't, Q. Don't think this is your fault. They know things they
shouldn't know, and have done things they shouldn't have been able to
do. Can Humans read minds in this world? Have we miscalculated from
the beginning? You did so much, here, Q. You have kept me safe. And
we will find a way through this even as things are. These people, the
Continuum, my crew...we are one person now, Q. They won't succeed
against us."
He saw Q's head turn to him, and in those dark brown eyes Picard saw
all that he thought reflected back, acknowledged, confirmed. He
smiled, and meant it, and Q, though somewhat faintly, smiled back.
"It's coming up," the driver gruffly announced. Halkins somehow grew
even more alert.
Picard and Q frowned. They were passing by a shopping mall. Was
there some sort of hidden military site here? Surreptitiously, they
peered through the windows, and saw nothing but traffic and a
Dillard's.
The car ahead of them turned, but their own limousine was catch behind
a semi. The driver maneuvered, then suddenly craned the long car
around in a U-turn. Another black limo darted around the truck, and
then was smoothly following the first car.
"Don't floor it," the guard in the front seat warned the driver, who
muttered something in reply.
"My God," Picard breathed.
Q laughed.
Dr. Lancet turned around with a frown for both of them. "This is
nothing to laugh at."
"I beg to differ," Q replied.
"When it comes out, what we've done -"
"And why are you doing this, if I may ask?" Picard inquired.
Lancet groaned and turned back around in her seat, facing front.
"Because we're insane. Now sit there and be quiet until we're there."
"Could Freddie at least put away the gun?" Q asked.
The lieutenant scowled, but holstered the firearm.
They drove deep into the heart of Kenner, barely stopping for lights
until they arrived at a beige and white complex of housing units that
would be available for occupancy in the year 2000. Dr. Steward pulled
around behind a flatbed, killed the motor, and then opened her door.
The rest of them left the car, then walked up a flight of metal steps
to door #42. Steward produced a key, then ushered them inside a
carpeted but unpainted room.
Wrapped in plastic, the transmitter sat in the middle of the floor.
Lancet held up the briefcase.
"I take it you were planning to plug this into that?"
Q and Picard said nothing.
"Whom are you attempting to contact?"
Hazel and brown eyes had lost all expression. Halkins peered out a
window.
"We're trying to help you damnit! But we need more information."
Steward looked at Lancet, then back at the two men. "You don't even
know, do you? You think you're going to brazen this out with more
stories about being gay Santas?"
Q raised an eyebrow slightly, then found himself captured by the
woman's eyes. They were so much like the ones he wanted to spend
eternity gazing into.
"Think about it, Q," Lancet said, enjoying the slight response the
"name" got. She thought of how Jean-Luc had moaned that name in the
bathroom, the same way her Connie moaned her name when she slipped her
tongue inside the soft warmth of her. She snorted just a little in
self-exasperation. Somehow, despite the insanity of it, the
impossibility of it, she and Con should have realized earlier.
Halkins stiffened at the window, half-reaching for his gun, then
paused, then relaxed slightly.
"Think about what, Dr. Lancet?" Jean-Luc asked, his eyes turning from
the man at the window.
But Connie was the one who stood forward, and reached out her right
hand, turning it palm-up. "Jean-Luc...Q. We have the same
fingerprints."
The men stared, and seemed oddly distant, or cut-off.
"Did you hear me?" Steward prodded.
Jean-Luc and Q exchanged a glance, and seemed at a loss.
END OF PART FIFTEEN
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Posting to ASCEM is easy: send your messages to
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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 16/16
From: varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Date: Fri, 28 May 1999 23:38:36 -0700
--------
Subject:
NEW An Hour of Eternity (TNG P/Q NC-17) 16/16
Date:
27 May 1999 14:27:36 GMT
From:
varoneeka@aol.com (Varoneeka)
Organization:
AOL http://www.aol.com
To:
alt-startrek-creative-erotica-moderated
Newsgroups:
alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
"Except for the fact that yours are larger, exactly the same," Lancet
said, her hands on her hips. "And so you can see why we'd like an
explanation."
"We have none to give."
"Oh, *bullshit!*"
Picard stared at this other version of himself, and for the first time
considered telling the truth.
"Jean-Luc..." Q warned, recognizing the man's expression. "There's no
way they would accept it."
Picard was going to object, when he caught...something from Q that
cued him. He still objected, but with a different focus.
"I wasn't going to say anything, Q. I'm sure it's more than they
could -"
"What are we, children?" Lancet snapped. "Do you think I don't
recognize my own manipulation techniques? How do you think we
bypassed your security, anyway?"
Q stared at her, then figured it out. "You knew the keyword."
"Yes. "MONCAPITAINE." I use it myself as my root password. It's
what I used to call my pet cat."
"We're from another universe," Q said. "Parallel to this one."
Connie blinked. Lancet looked back and forth between the two men.
Halkins watched the parking lot.
"You said it," Steward said, looking at Lancet, then back at Q. "I
didn't think you'd actually say it."
"It's only the truth," Picard murmured. "And we didn't mean to come
here."
"You didn't come here for the generator?" Lancet asked, her expression
the same as Q's when he was truly surprised.
Q rolled his eyes. "Our universe is several centuries along the
timeline. Cold fusion has gone out of fashion for everyone in the
quadrant."
"Then...what are you doing here?" Steward's eyes were wide with
confusion, and Q had to reign in the impulse to hold her.
"It was an accident," Picard explained. "And now we just want to get
back where we belong."
"It works, doesn't it?" Lancet asked, holding up the briefcase.
"You've got a working cold fusion generator in this thing."
"Yes."
"You have to leave it here," Steward said.
"Impossible," Picard told her.
"Things are only impossible until they're not!" she snapped back.
Q laughed, then looked at Jean-Luc. "We might as well, Jean-Luc."
"That would mean the worst kind of interference in their -"
"They're all going to die, Jean-Luc. What's worse for them than
that?"
"We know there are other universes where Earth's existence isn't good
for the worlds around them. Perhaps in this universe it's those
worlds that are meant to be spared."
Halkins seemed almost to choke on something, then resolutely continued
to watch over the asphalt.
"Jean-Luc, I know you want to leave it here."
"I know you want to too," Steward noted.
"I know *I* want you to," Lancet put in.
"At least tell us how to retune the ignition sequence on our primary
relay matrix," Steward persisted.
"You know that's your main problem?" Q asked in surprise.
"Of course we know," Lancet said, pushing her hair back angrily. "But
we don't have time for the tests we need to run. Someone's going to
get trigger-happy sometime soon, and we're not moving fast enough. We
can't even make people believe this is going to work! Everyone is
either screaming for their gallon of gas or their pound of flesh."
"It's amazing, almost super-Human that you've managed to come this far
in such a short period of time," Picard observed.
"It doesn't matter how amazing it is if we all die!"
"It *does* matter! The two of you matter! If you know what's wrong,
you *can* fix it. Just as Q and I..." He turned to look at his
lover. "...will overcome the obstacles that stand in our way." His
eyes held a vow he didn't care that the women could see as well.
Thank God at least Halkins wasn't looking at him. "Everything that
stands between ourselves and what we want."
"Does 'everything' for you two include a nuclear holocaust?" Lancet
demanded.
"Oh!" Q rolled his hand over. "Don't go there."
"How about half a billion dollars instead?" a quiet baritone inquired.
There was a small pause, during which everyone, even Halkins, wound up
looking at Picard.
"There's that much in our personal account. And you have Q's root
password. It's yours."
"Five hundred million," Q agreed. "And you have to get your initial
heat ratio below 1-5."
"Q!"
"It's just a little hint."
"I can't believe you did that!"
"Picard, our presence here is only going to make things more difficult
for them, surely you see that? Besides, the two of them just saved
us. I'm only evening things out a bit."
"Q..."
"They're going to be asked about this; they might even have their
funds cut off, their project questioned. If they get their heat ratio
down, they'll be able to show the early stages of energy production.
It will give them back some of their credibility."
"Q." But now it was a resigned statement of the inevitable, and when
Q caught Connie's eye for a wink, she had a hard time not laughing
hysterically. Did she and Janet seem this way to other people?
"One to five...you know, that explains quite a bit," Lancet was
mumbling, her eyes over-clouding with equations.
Halkins snapped his fingers and drew his sidearm. "Entry at the west
gate."
"You two have to get out of this room."
"*Below* 1-5!" Q yelled out as Lancet handed him the suitcase and
Picard fell to his knees to peel the plastic off the transmitter.
"Not even a half-degree above."
"Understood."
"I wish we could have talked more," Connie told Picard, backing
reluctantly out the door.
"As do I," he told her, sparing a second to look up into the eyes that
mirrored his own. "But I know that you will succeed."
"Have that much confidence in yourself, do you?" Lancet asked with a
half-grin, half-sneer.
"No...in you," Picard replied, grinning himself as a familiar look
melted her gaze.
Then the women left with Halkins in tow, and Q opened the briefcase.
~~~//~~~
"Captain," the communications officer announced. "I am receiving an
emergency alert and request for beam-out from some illogical
coordinates."
The captain walked quickly, but calmly, to the communications display,
watching as his officer threw back several switches and keyed in the
matrix for coordinate confirmation.
"I do not recognize this code," the officer, K'Pel, reported,
pointing. "But their primary codes conform to the interstellar
union."
"Yes," Captain K'vek agreed. "They are in danger within a pre-warp
civilization and wish to be retrieved before violating the Second Law
of Jorhan. However, we have no knowledge of the signal's origin. It
would only be logical to erect a forcefield around the transporter
before beaming them aboard."
The first officer agreed, and in short order two near-Vulcanoid men -
only their ears and foreheads were alien -- in dark clothes and
surrounded by primitive equipment stood in the middle of the Vulcan
transporter pad.
"Live long, and prosper." The Vulcan made the salute with his hands,
then raised his eyebrows as the two men returned it. "I am Captain
K'vek."
"And I'm...Jean-Luc...Steward."
"Quentin Jones."
"We were traveling in this sector when our ship was caught in a
temporal disturbance, said Steward."
"We jury-rigged what we could from the remains of our control room."
"If you would be so kind as to drop us off at the nearest...transport
station on your route...we would be obliged."
K'vek nodded. "That would only be logical. We have quarters
available for you."
"Vulcan hospitality is renowned throughout this sector," the tall one
put in with a smile, "and for good reason."
"It is satisfactory to hear that our reputation among travelers is
positive. I will have your equipment brought to your rooms." He
turned to the tall Vulcan women beside him. "This Aock, my first
officer. She will show you to your quarters."
Picard followed Q off the pad, easily refraining from speaking
further. The walls were covered in Vulcan markings, along with
switches, knobs, flip-panels, stem-bolt markings, and access ports.
The walk to their very small rooms was not long. Not long at all.
"You should be able to stay here with an acceptable level of comfort
while we make the trip to Astrid V," Aock told them, her hands clasped
behind her back. "The facilities are at the end of the hall." She
nodded to the chart on the smooth gray wall. "We will be having our
evening meal in three hours. You are invited. Do you require
anything further?"
"No, thank you."
Q shook his head.
She nodded and left.
Picard opened his mouth for the inevitable question, then shut it as Q
began to laugh.
It was not a laugh from someone who found something amusing. But was
not a polite or ironic or despairing laugh either. It sounded openly
celebratory, full of joy, and because of that Picard was almost
prepared when Q swooped to him, grabbed him around the waist, and
swung him in a full circle before claiming his mouth in a deep,
searching kiss.
He kissed back, but had to pull away, just enough to ask, to
understand.
"Q. When is this?"
"December 14th, Jean-Luc. 1999."
"What?"
"We didn't compensate enough for the temporal shift. We only moved
through the universe, not through time."
"But -"
"Don't you see? Don't you get it, Jean-Luc? We're in the past.
Truly in the past. You don't exist yet, and I exist very far from
here."
"Then we should -"
"Do absolutely nothing!" Q's stare was fierce. "If we do nothing,
then we're safe. Don't you understand?"
Picard thought a moment, then realized Q's plan. "But even so, the
Continuum must know you're here."
"Not if I don't call attention to myself by using my powers."
"But that would mean...there are several hundred years that need to
pass...before..."
Q smiled.
"We...we could. Couldn't we, Q?"
Q's smile grew a bit, and the look in his eyes softened.
"We could just live out our lives, here, now," Picard continued, "in
our world but not in our world, and be together."
"There's no reason we couldn't. I mean, I could use a power here and
there, discretely, just enough to keep you alive, and me out of
trouble. Unless you don't want -"
And now Q found himself locked in a kiss, deep, full of love and joy,
acceptance and excitement. This time Q drew back, wanting a bit more.
"You'll do this for me, Jean-Luc?"
"No. I'll do this for me, because I've never wanted anything more.
My God, Q. We can have centuries together. *Centuries.*"
"It's still not enough," Q complained. "But I'll take it."
"Where shall we go?" Picard asked with a grin, fighting the urge to
dance about the room. "Where can we stay out of history's way?"
"You mean it," Q said, and his eyes showed that only now was something
inside being reached, something warmed that had spent eternity aloof
and cold. "You'll do it."
Jean-Luc placed his mouth against Q's, his left hand on Q's shoulder
while the other, softly, slowly, smoothed over his chest, down to his
hips, between his legs. "Willingly, gladly, gratefully. After all,
what newly married couple don't deserve a few centuries to be alone
together? The work, I'm sure, will be waiting for us both when
we...catch up."
They kissed quite a while this time, then got undressed and kissed
some more, all over, then all over again.
Much later, after they'd missed dinner, Picard thought to ask again:
"Where should we go, Q? We do want to keep from contaminating any
timelines."
"Well, they say you're safest in your own backyard."
Picard frowned into the comforting darkness, then swung up on an elbow
to look down with astonishment into Q's sparkling eyes.
"You can't be serious!"
~~~//~~~
"...sun is shining like A RED RUBber ball!..."
Picard looked up at the passing Chevy as its radio blared out the
tune, grateful at least that its occupants weren't the usual rap-
lovers, then looked over at Q, who was particularly sensual right now,
with his flushed, sweaty skin and heaving chest.
"You're...running faster...Jean-Luc," Q accused. "It's...not fair."
"I just felt happy to be alive. You don't have to keep up with me,
you know. It's not a race."
Q hmphed and moved back towards the warehouse gate. It wasn't, to
their surprise, exactly the same warehouse they'd had before, though
it looked similar enough. The one they'd rented in the other universe
had been destroyed in a fire...which was parallel in its own way, they
supposed.
It didn't matter, there was a TV room with no sofa, a kitchen full of
gadgets, and upstairs...
Picard smiled, thinking about the room upstairs. He and Q had enjoyed
it practically every night since sneaking back to Earth three months
ago.
He made a point of catching Q's eye, then bent over for a final
stretch before standing up and raising his arms over his head. Dark
eyes followed every movement now.
"You're asking for it."
"I should hope so. See you after your shower."
The one-day-to-be-captain-again walked through the gate into the
warehouse, well aware that Q would be double-checking all the locks
before following him.
History would never find them here, not in this town that would, in
only a few decades' time, sadly be wiped out in a nuclear explosion.
History would not care, not as long as they did nothing more than eat
in restaurants and make love in their warehouse. Even passive, Q's
powers allowed him to know when they should stay home, and when going
about was all right, to know what tourists they shouldn't speak to,
and who was safe for a few social drinks and small talk. They'd even
thought about joining up for a march or two, secure in getting lost in
the crowd.
When they had to leave here, they would go to an island not far from
Madagascar, and then after that...there were several possibilities.
By the time they neared their own time, they would probably be far
from Earth, exploring, preparing to re-enter their lives.
Q had insisted that Picard actually witness as little as possible of
the war itself, and Jean-Luc had, grudgingly, agreed. After all, it
would be worth it in the end, getting to witness the days after First
Contact, when *his* world would begin to take shape. He would even be
able to watch Lily and Cochrane on the news.
Picard stepped into the shower and efficiently cleaned up, thinking
about Q's rushing through his own toilette.
It still made his breath catch, and his heart pound, walking into
their bedroom - just a little larger than the original had been - and
seeing the bed. Q had made the comforter and curtains green this
time, like a forest, with water-blue sheets and carved oak posters
stained dark. The steps felt the same climbing up, and the mattress
gave and contoured just as the other had.
And where was Q, damnit? His body felt so empty, as empty as his life
had been before Q had filled it.
A train went by without blowing its horn. The rumble shook the bed
slightly.
The door opened. Q walked in naked and smiled at the man's uncovered
body.
"One day," Q said as he came up the steps and settled down beside his
husband - they'd gotten married in Hawaii, "I'll be able to hold out
on you, you know, tease you when you want me this bad."
"Is that something I'm supposed to look forward to?"
Q shrugged, already running his hands over Picard's chest. "It still
embarrasses me a little, that you could tell me to suck you off in
front of a crowd and I'd do it."
"I would never tell you that. Besides, I'd do the same if you asked."
"No you wouldn't...and neither would I, I suppose. We'd just start
laughing before we got anywhere, and then they'd come and arrest us."
They looked at each other, remembering those awful moments in the limo
when they'd thought they were under arrest, thinking of what they'd
wanted then, of what they'd somehow been given now.
"Ohhhhh," Jean-Luc moaned, spreading his legs. "Be inside me. Let me
hold you safely inside."
Q reached for the lubricant - they kept several tubes of the stuff
scattered all around their home. It weren't as if they ever had
guests - and slicked himself up quickly. He gently slipped a finger
inside Jean-Luc and stretched him. They were able to rush this part
now a bit, but they never skipped it, not in fear of clinics, but
because the care they took in each other was as good as the sex.
*Well,* Q thought, *almost as good.*
"Q, Jean-Luc and Captain Jones..."
Q shuddered. How *had * Picard figured out just what this story meant
to him? The equivalent, nothing less, of a Q lap-dance.
"Tell me about the first time Jean-Luc was inside Quentin."
"Oh, Jean-Luc..." The coherence required for his husband's request
was overwhelming.
"Tell me. Please."
Q kissed him, needing the strength of it. There was a great chance he
wouldn't be able to keep from coming first if he had to think about
this. Perhaps he should suck Jean-Luc off before -"
"Q...please. Tell me."
"He'd already had Quentin take him several times, the first time
simply moving on top of him when Quentin thought he was going to suck
him. He even...oh, you're so hot inside. I could come just from
having my fingers inside you."
Picard canted his hips. "I'm ready for you, Q."
"Another moment, just...Quentin kept asking for it, but Jean-Luc knew
he was afraid of the pain, of what it would mean. It was just seeing
Jean-Luc come so hard that made him want it. And he wanted to be as
close as he could to him by then. They'd fallen so hard for each
other."
"Now, Q!"
Q sighed in relief and pleasure and withdrew his fingers. The next
time Picard took him, he'd ask for Shakespearean sonnets.
Jean-Luc felt the blunt head softly settle against his opening, and
spread his legs wider, almost unbearably empty. He almost came. Only
Q's words kept him grounded.
"In the end, Jean-Luc agreed to be inside him only if Quentin swore to
warn him the second it hurt, and then..." Q slipped inside, moaning
as he moved along the caramel heat, being drawn in, secured, comforted
down to the last warm place of his consciousness. "...then they laid
down on the bed, and Jean-Luc...put pillows under Quentin's hips, and
spent a good ten minutes stretching him and putting lube...inside."
"Couldn't bear...the thought of...hurting him, eh...Q?" Picard pushed
against the pressure in his body, and finally felt Q all the way
inside, his body fitting him exactly, two halves of the perfect whole.
This was his place, his time, his existence, his universe. "Did Jones
feel this, Q? Did he feel that love was fucking him?"
Q gasped and rocked into him, pulled back, and thrust hard, deep
inside. Jean-Luc reeled from the pleasure, his head sunk deeply back,
drowning in the water-blue pillow.
"He felt..." Q faltered, recovered, continued. "...exposed, opened,
more naked than a fetus...and when he looked back over his shoulder to
see a man fucking him...he almost rejected the possibility of it."
Picard refused to allow Q's rhythm to falter again. He had no fear
that Jones didn't get over his bad moment. A sea captain and a model,
two women working on cold fusion, two giant storks with cigars - what
did it matter? He put a hand on Q's hip, urging him inside, harder
and faster. "He knew he was loved," he gasped out.
"Yes." Q laughed, the difficult part over, and not as difficult as
he'd thought after all. He should have known Jean-Luc would
understand. "Yes, after the first couple of...minutes...oh, Jean-
Luc...he wanted...more."
"Yes. More, Q. More of you. Deep inside me. Give me all that you
are. I want you inside me *more, * Q."
Q screamed. Jean-Luc knew he had only a moment before they both
couldn't hold back, and for that moment he strained to make it even
more perfect, more wonderful.
And then he just relaxed, in a way he had never relaxed before. He
had nothing to fear. He loved and he was loved, whether swimming in
Q's green-blue bed or thrusting into Q as his lover bent over the
kitchen sink, in this century or the next, in this world or the next.
He'd been given all he wanted, and more, and could give all he was,
and more.
"It's all right, Q," he whispered. "Come inside me, and we'll...rest
and...do it...again."
Q seemed slightly lost, however, and Picard knew it would take the
entity longer - having been alone so much longer - to understand.
And so he smiled, and grabbed Q tight, and wrapped his legs around his
husband's back, and emerged into an ecstasy a little bit greater than
he had ever felt before. And he made sure to scream out Q's name and
continue, breathlessly, to beg for more yet again.
After all, he knew even as Q shared himself once more that he'd get
it.
THE END
Feedback would be so nice. Varoneeka@aol.com
Varoneeka
Varoneeka: What would Q make of Sterling?
Homespon: His mistress.
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